


The Tribunals

by Ficsandmusings



Series: Spin the Rails [1]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Canon Compliant, Complicated Relationships, Courtroom Drama, Daddy Issues, During Canon, Family Feels, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Gap Filler, Gen, Government, Historical References, Other, Political Campaigns, Political Parties, Politics, Trials
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-05-01 02:05:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 98,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5188046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ficsandmusings/pseuds/Ficsandmusings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Amon exposed, the threat of the Equalists has been temporarily neutralized. But what happens now? The Council proved its ineffectiveness, and there are major societal issues surrounding the treatment of nonbenders. </p><p>This fic follows Tenzin, Asami, and Raiko during the 6th months in between Books 1 and 2. Tenzin is tasked with setting up a new form of government, complete with elections. Raiko makes a run at the newly established office of the presidency, but quickly learns what politics requires. Asami, still wounded from the aftermath of her battle with her father, learns that Future Industries is suddenly hers. And against the backdrop of new, political frenzy, an International Military Tribunal has been appointed to try the high-ranking Equalists--Hiroshi included.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The door to the balcony opened with its usual metallic squeak, though Fire Lord Izumi did not so much as turn her head at the noise. Instead, her eyes were fixed to the south, towards the lip of the crater, beyond which lay the switchbacks down to the Royal Plaza. She was seated, her left arm resting on a small table with a pai sho board carved in its middle, absentmindedly twirling one of the tiles in between her fingers. Just next to her elbow lay the message she had been handed over an hour ago—a transcribed wire from the United Republic.

Despite it being the news she had been waiting for, after thanking the red-faced communications operator who delivered it, Izumi had placed it on the table and did not touch it for a quarter of an hour. At last, when it had seemed shameful to hide from it for any longer, she forced herself to read the scrawled translation. Her relief had been immediate; her son was alive. And yet, the rest...

“I thought I’d find you out here,” a familiar voice said. “I came as soon as I heard about the wire.”

“I’ve been out here all morning, Dad,” she said. From her periphery, she saw Zuko lower himself into the empty chair on the other side of the table.

They sat in silence for a solid minute, until at last he said, “Is it war?”

“Republic City has been reclaimed. Amon has fled, and the Equalists are on the run.”

“And Iroh?” There was a catch in his voice.

Izumi set the pai sho tile down and turned to study her father’s face. He looked older than she remembered, and even his scar did little to mask his tension. There was good reason for it; the last anyone in the Fire Nation had heard of her second-born, he had sailed his division of the United Forces into an Equalist ambush. “Your grandson is alive,” she answered simply. “And a hero, at that. He single-handedly destroyed a fleet of aircrafts, which allowed the reinforcements to safely retake the city.” It was good news, by all accounts. Yet somehow she couldn’t seem to take joy out of it.

Zuko looked as though he were searching for words. At last, he managed, “Dorisu and Eimi should be told.”

She gave a small nod. “Eimi has been already, but Dori’s in a meeting with the treasurer. I’ve arranged for her to be informed once it concludes.”

He studied her face. “There’s bad news too,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

Izumi picked up the message and handed it to her father. She watched him closely as he read, trying to recall the words from memory herself. Tenzin sounded practically frantic, and it was no wonder: despite the threat of the Equalists being neutralized, the First Division of the United Forces was smashed, numerous benders had their abilities stripped, and Amon escaped. Worse still, his victims included the entire police force and the Avatar, who had been left with only her airbending.

The mysterious Equalist leader had been revealed to be the son of one of Republic City’s most notorious crime bosses. Though surely no sane person would follow him after learning that, the idea of a powerful bloodbender capable of such damage going missing was past unsettling.

“The Avatar!” Zuko cried as he got to the bottom of the message.

“Do you think the bloodbending could be undone?” The last part of Tenzin’s message said that he was on his way to the South Pole, where his mother would look at Korra.

“I don’t know...maybe on the full moon. But if anyone can heal her, it’s Katara,” he answered, absentmindedly moving his hand to his chest.

“She still has her airbending,” she pointed out. “That’s more than Lin can say.” It had been some time since she had seen her ‘cousin,’ though Izumi held a certain fondness for Toph’s eldest daughter. Lin was twelve years younger, but had a seriousness about her, even as a child, that Izumi had always found endearing.

“Still, is that enough for the Avatar?” Zuko shook his head. “I wonder if her ability to enter the Spirit World may have been severed.”

Izumi picked back up the pai sho tile again, rubbing her thumb against it. “Whatever the case, she will remain our spiritual leader. We can’t change what happened to her. All we _can_ do is focus on the other matter.” She nodded towards the message her father had placed back on the table.

“Tenzin’s requested your presence in the city.”

“Along with Chief Unalaq and Earth Queen Hou-Ting.”

“To rule?” he asked, raising his eyebrow.

She sighed. “That’s the implication, isn’t it?”

“It's officially ‘to discuss options.’”

“Aside from Tenzin, all the Councilmen are missing. The policemen don’t have their bending, and even the military suffered a great blow. Not to mention,” she said, her eyes searching her father’s face, “a radical bloodbender managed to successfully topple the government, even if it was just for a short time. These summons _can_ only mean one thing: Tenzin intends for us to take control of the city.”

Zuko looked away. “That would call the entire Republic into question. And yet...the Council could not protect its people, as it was meant to.” He turned back, placing a hand on the table. “You must see that there are other options.”

Izumi directed her gaze back over Caldera City. “Of course I see that. And each is less promising than the last."

“When Avatar Aang, Earth King Kuei, and I formed the United Republic, it was a compromise. It was to reflect the will of the people in the colonies—our people.”

“The people of the United Republic, Dad. We can’t keep our fingers in this pot forever.”

"It was _our_ war that created those colonies. It is our burden."

"For how long? The Equalist threat is neutralized; your grandson, a prince of the Fire Nation, neutralized it. You would have me govern in the Republic, even now?"

"I would have peace. I would have a government that once again protects its people.”

Izumi met her father’s gaze. His imploring look was almost too much for her to bear. “It is not for us to determine."

“Who else is there? The military? Its citizens?” Zuko reached across the table and touched her hand. “Izumi, for too much of my life, I have seen how easily people can be led. My uncle was the most honorable man I’ve ever known, and even he fought my great-grandfather’s war for years. There’s too much at stake. This is a conversation we cannot afford to sit out."

"I never said I intended to." She moved away from his touch. "But you cannot deny that this is a national issue for the Republic."

“It’s a national issue for a country that reflects on us. For a country that exists because of us.”

"Not every social ill is the fault of the war."

"Is that so?" There was a sharpness in his voice. "Our family pillaged this world, Izumi. When was it that you feel we earned such absolution as to be able to close our eyes now?"

Izumi frowned. She needed no reminder of their legacy. "You know that's not how I view the matter. We still pay reparations to the Air Nation, and gladly so." She sighed. "We also formed the United Republic so as to govern itself—an answer for the wrongs we committed. They will always be our allies, but I cannot go there and take charge under the false pretense that my grandfather was somehow to blame for the rise of a radical revolutionary nearly three quarters of a century later." 

"No," Zuko agreed solemnly. "The blame lies with me. It was my ideas that failed.”

“Dad,” she said, suddenly feeling guilty for withdrawing her hand, “you couldn’t have foreseen this. You couldn’t have predicted a world where benders of all origin would team up and seek to exploit nonbenders.”

“No, but it was my responsibility to establish a government that could adjust with changing needs.” He shook his head sadly. “You have to make this right again. There can’t be another Amon.”

"What am I supposed to do?” Izumi asked sharply. “March our troops through the city until every triad has been eliminated?”

For a moment, Zuko was silent. But when he spoke again, his voice was pained. “If the United Republic falls apart, all the troops in the world won’t be able to put it back together, though I guarantee you they’ll be the ones called upon to try. Even I nearly re-engaged us in war over these colonies.” He pushed his chair back from the table and slowly rose. “It is up to you to fix my mistakes. You’re right; we can’t stop everyone with bad aims. But we can temper the response and prevent more blood from being spilled. It’s our duty to understand and protect people from their own passions. My duty...and now yours. I wish I could take back these burdens I've passed to you, but you are the only one who could ever handle them. The truth is, I'm an old man, Izumi. I'm an old man.” With that, he turned and walked back inside the palace.

Izumi remained where she was sitting, deep in thought. Whether for five minutes, or another hour, she could not have said. Finally, she rose and called for her guard stationed just on the other side of the door.

“Yes, Fire Lord?” she asked when she appeared, pausing to give a small bow.

“I am heading to my throne room. Please tell High General Shirou that his presence is requested.”

“Very good,” the sentry answered.

“And one more thing,” Izumi said. “Send word to High Admiral June: ‘prepare the fleet.’”


	2. Tenzin I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tenzin and Lin travel towards Republic City.

 

> _"After seeing the catastrophic results of the Equalist Uprising, there may be a few growls for another radical movement, but that is as far as the thing will go. Nor can there ever again be any genuine passion for liberty, or any organized movement against harsh laws, or any effective punishment of profiteers. Such things, to the bourgeoisie, are not evils; they are goods; upon them the whole structure of bourgeois society rests. Only one thing could ever and will ever seriously damage that structure: unsuccessful war. The day the United Republic is beaten on land and sea, and the unbroken hope of seventy years suddenly blows up—that day it will be high time to look for the birth of radicalism. Until then, let us snooze at peace. We are all safe. All we have gobbled we may keep."  
>  _
> 
> -Mongang, _The Republic City Sun_

 

They had been two days flying. The first passed without fuss; it was a painless ride to the Southern Air Temple, and the wires they had received during their time in Harbor City made for easy conversation. By the second day, however, both Tenzin and Lin Beifong were growing restless. They had eaten their morning meal in silence, eager to get back on Oogi. Yet once there, finally moving again, they still couldn’t seem to break the quiet.

It was a beautiful day for flying. The cold of the Southern Water Tribe had all but left the air, and there was not a single cloud. Somehow, that made it worse. Hours passed with nothing to see but blue sky, blue water. If the sun had not worked its way from Tenzin’s right to his left, he would not have been entirely convinced that time was passing at all.

He could sense Lin’s tension, even from where he was perched on the bison’s head. Throughout the morning he heard her impatient drumming on the side of the saddle, and the few times he dared to turn and look in her direction, she wore a scowl. It was enough to make Tenzin quite uncomfortable. _She sacrificed herself for you and your family. You can’t let yourself feel frustrated with her_. There would never be the words to thank Lin for that act, he knew. So if it meant ignoring her grating sighs, he was happy to do that.

Whatever fondness Tenzin was feeling towards her did not appear to be mutual. By the mid-afternoon, or at least what _looked_ to be the mid-afternoon, Lin couldn’t seem to hold her tongue anymore. “Can’t you make this thing go any faster?” she snapped. “At this rate, the others will beat us back on their ship.”

The abrupt outburst caused Tenzin to jerk the reins. Oogi let out a low rumble of disapproval. “They’re not leaving for a few days,” he answered, though he knew Lin was in full awareness of that fact too.

As soon as Tenzin had been satisfied that Korra’s spirits were back, he immediately began itching to return to the city. Yet somehow, he hadn't been able to bring himself to tell his wife at first. The events of the revolution had left Pema exhausted, not just from childbirth, but from her worry for their children. She had tried, for the better part of the flight down, to talk through their feelings about their recent capture, worried about the emotional scars it may have left. Ikki had simply shrugged and insisted that everything was fine now, while Meelo bragged about how he took out five Equalists single-handedly. Jinora, at least, had admitted that she had been scared, but she was so preoccupied with her worry over Korra’s well-being that she didn’t entertain the discussion for very long.

Tenzin knew it would be asking too much of his wife to get back in the saddle so soon, but what choice did he have? He said as much to his sister and Lin, when he found them alone in the kitchen washing dishes after dinner. “I know Pema won’t like it, but I have to get back,” he had said. “There’s no clear leadership in the city right now. It’s in the hands of...well, of Bumi.”

Kya had rolled her eyes. “Will you relax? Bumi will be _fine_. He is a commander, after all.”

“You know I never do this,” Lin had said, putting down her dishtowel, “but I agree with Tenzin. Korra's healed and we're not doing any good here. The city needs us right now.”

“Then maybe you two should go back ahead of everyone,” Kya had suggested. “It will be faster going on Oogi anyway, and then it would still let the others catch their breath.”

“I’d feel better if my family was with me.”

“Tenzin, Pema hasn’t even slept in the same bed two nights in a row since Rohan was born!” Kya placed a hand on her hip. “Face it, they could use this. _You_ could use this, but I guess that's out of the question.”

“I know they do, but I can’t ask Mom to watch four young children!” he had objected. “She already has to deal with too much.”

“ _I’ll_ be watching them too. I’m capable of that, you know,” his sister insisted. “Plus, I can get Korra and her friends to help out.”

Lin had smirked. “Yeah, two orphans, an heiress, and someone who grew up so sheltered she makes the sandbenders seem cultured. Good luck with that.”

But in the end, it had been Kya’s plan that stuck, and he and Lin took off after breakfast the next morning.

Tenzin turned around to look at Lin, who was now slumped in the saddle, arms folded. When she felt his gaze she said, “I know when they’re leaving. Doesn’t change that we’re barely moving.”

“Oogi’s still tired from the flight down.” Indeed, the bison, as if sensing the urgency of the situation had flown to the South Pole faster than Tenzin had ever remembered. And even though he was now allowing the beast a slower pace, his own impatience to return to the city caused them to leave the Southern Air Temple at first light, a mere six hours after Oogi had been led to the stables by the acolytes. “It’s just hard to tell where we are, that's all,” Tenzin continued, turning back to face the sea again. “We’ll be at Fire Fountain City before nightfall, and if the winds stay as they are, Republic City tomorrow evening.”

She took an aggravated breath. “Not soon enough, as far as I’m concerned. We should have flown through the night. Traded bison at the temple.”

Tenzin had considered that, but felt too uncomfortable at the idea of leaving Oogi behind. “Half a day won’t make a difference. Besides, Fire Lord Izumi and Chief Unalaq are on their way too. They may even arrive before us.

“The Earth Queen is staying in Ba Sing Se then?”

“It’s always been traditional for the Earth Monarch to do that. She’s sending her Grand Secretariat in her stead, though she claims that Gun is far too busy to arrive for at least another week.”

“Didn’t your dad take away that position’s power?” Lin asked.

“As far as I know,” Tenzin answered. “But the Grand Secretariat still speaks with the Earth Queen’s voice, at least according to her.” Feeling a change in the wind, he pulled slightly on the left side of the reins. “It doesn’t matter. With both Unalaq and Izumi coming, we’ll be able to establish order soon enough. The city will be safe.”

“That’s what you think. Saikhan’s still leading the police, and he can’t even bend right now. You thought he was ineffective before...”

“The wires we’re getting from Iroh and Bumi make it sound as if there isn’t much of an active threat. The Equalists are scattered and leaderless. It’s just a matter of finding all of them right now.”

“The _city_ is scattered and leaderless,” she pointed out. “Perfect time for someone to strike.”

Tenzin furrowed his brow, her words making an uncomfortable amount of sense. Lin had always had a talent for that. “The United Forces will be able to keep order for two more days. Then you and I will be able to sort this out.”

“I still say Korra should have come back with us. She’s got a lot of bending to restore, and the people would feel comforted by the Avatar’s presence.”

Tenzin jerked his head around once more. “She’s just been through a major trauma!”

Lin fixed him with a stony gaze. “You think _I_ don’t know that?”

It took a moment for her words to sink in. “No...I didn’t mean...”

“Sometimes we don’t have a choice but to get on with it,” she finished.

“Lin...” He softened his voice. “I know you're eager to get back, but maybe you should think about taking a few days to—”

“That’s not going to happen.”

Tenzin swallowed before trying again. “I just think, maybe some rest will do you good.”

“We both know I’m not resting until I’ve got my old job back and the city is secure.”

“You don’t think you might benefit from a break?” He couldn’t imagine what it had felt like for her, losing something so fundamental. If Amon had successfully taken away his own bending, or worse, his children’s... He shuttered in his seat.

“Great, now you want to be my therapist.” Lin snapped.

Tenzin was quite sure she didn’t even have a therapist, but decided to leave that thought to himself. “You know Saikhan better than I do. Do you think he’ll give your position back once we return?” he tried instead, turning to face front.

“Probably. He was always a loyal captain. I don’t think he ever wanted to lead, but once I stepped down, who else was there?” When Tenzin said nothing, she continued. “He’s not made for it; that’s why he turned everything over to Tarrlok. I think he’ll be relieved.”

“Tarrlok,” Tenzin muttered under his breath. “I asked Iroh on the radio last night, and there’s still no sign of him.”

Lin gave a grunt. “You think this is calculated? That the fool will show up now and mess with everything? Maybe even play up the martyr angle?”

“I don’t see how he could. He’s been exposed as Yakone’s son, and without his bloodbending, he won’t have any leverage over us. Besides, he couldn’t have freed himself.” He reflexively brought his hand to his chin. “But who did? And to what purpose?”

“Beats me, but I don’t like it. He’s still an official councilman that even Saikhan trusted for some reason. And with Councilman Sirmiq still missing, Councilman Naomi’s resignation, and Councilman Harshul...”

Lin let her voice trail off, but Tenzin needed no help filling in the blanks. On the way down to the Southern Water Tribe, they had stopped at Kyoshi Island for supplies. It was there that Tenzin placed a radio call to Republic City and learned from his brother that two of the councilmen were found. They had been kept in an underground cell along with Saikhan and half the police force, their bending abilities removed. Upon being discovered by the United Forces, Naomi had apparently burst into tears and resigned on the spot. Harshul, however, could barely move. He had tried to fight back when Amon took his bending, and he had paid the price for it. Though the army’s healers did their best, Harshul died only a few short hours later.

There was no news on the Southern Watertribe Councilman. Initially, Tenzin had wondered if Sirmiq was the one who freed Tarrlok, but the more he thought about it, the less sense it made. He couldn’t have even known where Tarrlok was being held prisoner, much less slipped onto the island without being noticed. No, instead Tenzin had to allow himself to hope that Sirmiq managed to escape the city before being attacked. But a nagging feeling in his stomach told him that it was likelier that he too had been killed. _No sense in locking up a corpse_.

A shiver passed over Tenzin once more. He forced himself to focus back on the conversation. “The Council has no more power,” he said solemnly. “Even if somehow Tarrlok turns up, there won’t be anyone for him to strong-arm. Saikhan knows we’re on our way, and until Korra’s return, your metalbending force won’t be of much use if Tarrlok would still try to control them. But, I don’t think he’s coming back. His disappearance _and_ his brother’s? It can’t be coincidence.”

“I agree.” Lin nosily shifted in her armor before she continued. “I know the United Forces are performing their sweeps, but they’ve got their hands full as it is, and those two could be anywhere. Not to mention Amon still has his bending.”

They had tried not to talk about it on the ride down; no need to bring up such things when Korra had only narrowly escaped the bloodbender with her life. But now, there was an odd comfort in recognizing the shared anxiety. “No one in Republic City will follow him again,” he answered. “It’s true, Amon could hurt a lot of people, but now that Korra’s learned how to restore bending, and now that we know what we’re dealing with...I don’t think he’s as big a threat.”

“I hope you’re right. We’ll have enough to deal with as it is. The city’s in the hands of your brother, Saikhan, and that kid-General even Izumi doesn’t seem to put much faith in.”

“Iroh’s a capable fighter, and he knows how to lead his troops. He may not be as bookish and serious as Dorisu, or as humble as Eimi, but I don’t think we should worry.” In truth, it had been several years since Tenzin had even seen Izumi’s daughters, and he wasn’t positive what they were like anymore. But Lin wasn’t entirely wrong about Iroh either. The Fire Lord often talked about her son’s ‘potential’ in sad, resigned tones. “Besides, there wasn’t much of a choice. We needed to get to the South Pole as soon as we could. Korra’s health came first.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Lin snapped. “I’m just saying that we don’t know what we’re coming back to. Could be a warzone.”

“I doubt that. The messages we’ve gotten sound like the focus has been on rounding up and arresting the Equalists. Without their leaders, there’s no threat.”

“Without their leaders, it’s the perfect time for the triads to make trouble. One good thing about the Equalists: the gangs were driven underground. For all you know, the Red Monsoons will be sitting at your table in City Hall when we get back.”

Tenzin frowned. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“You don’t know these thugs like I do,” Lin said. “The slightest glimmer of an opportunity, and they’ll strike.”

“And they have the power to take over the city? Even with the United Forces performing their sweeps?”

“The Agni Kais, maybe. Still, with the Equalists taken out, there’s sure to be turf wars.” She paused, before saying, “We’re going to have a rough few weeks in front of us. The sooner my force has their bending back, the better. And the same goes for appointing new Councilmen.”

Her words made Tenzin wince slightly. “Lin...I don’t think we can have another Council.”

“What are you saying?”

“Tarrlok proved how easily it can become corrupted.” He sighed heavily. “When my father, uncle, and Fire Lord Zuko set it up, the idea was that the council would be able to represent the interests of all the nations. But that was at a time when people still identified that way. It was a time when the main concern was about whether the Earth Kingdom or Fire Nation would be able to exert too much control.” Tenzin turned to glance at Lin. Back when they had dated, she used to love his long explanations, even at times asking for him to tell her the story of some guru or piece of Air Nation history. Yet as of late, she was more prone to mock him for his loquaciousness than listen.

Despite that, it was clear she was listening now. Their eyes met and she gave Tenzin a curt nod. He continued, “I don’t think they foresaw the day that the United Republic would have its own identity. Naomi is not in a position to speak for everyone in the city of Fire Nation origin. At most, she understands the experience of firebenders in the city, but even that isn't universal. Seventy years of this, and what we failed to realize was that the Council grew to no longer represent the people of the Republic—it represents the benders.” He shook his head. “If we appoint new Council members, they’ll want to see the Equalists punished, and then they’ll want to return to how things were. And if that happens, how long will it be before the city sees another Amon?”

Lin furrowed her brow. “So what’s the alternative? We don’t punish the Equalists?”

“Of course not,” Tenzin said. “I doubt most nonbenders wanted to see things go as far as they did. The Equalist officers will need to stand trial. But we can’t have the Council serve as the judges this time. We’ll need a more representative panel.”

“And who’s going to appoint these representatives? You?”

“Not just me; the Fire Lord, and the Chief of the Water Tribes too. We’ll have to.” He sighed. “I know what that sounds like, but...these trials can’t be delayed. We need to be able to move past this. Still, representatives chosen by the _people_ of Republic City are the ones who should be making these kinds of decisions in the future.”

“An elected council?” Lin asked skeptically. “Won’t that just make the problem go in the other direction? What if _only_ nonbenders are chosen?”

“Maybe we could have a council with one firebender, earthbender, waterbender, and nonbender,” Tenzin answered, his hand reaching towards his beard. “The Air Nation doesn’t need a voice so long as Air Temple Island remains protected. Everyone would only be allowed to vote for the councilman that corresponds to their own ability.”

“But then the benders could still team up against the nonbender. And an even number of councilmen means that there’d be tied votes.”

“We could have more than four,” he said slowly. “Maybe...for every hundred-thousand citizens of a given ability, there would be one representative.”

She arched an eyebrow. “That’d be what? One...two-hundred councilmen? How could anything ever get done?”

Tenzin was feeling his aggravation growing. “Well I don't know! There’d need to be someone in charge, then. Someone directly elected by all the citizens. Like a mayor, or a governor.” He hadn’t been thinking as he said it, but the words almost made sense now. “There _are_ places in the Earth Kingdom where they elect their town councils,” he continued, suddenly thoughtful. “I think even some governors are chosen by their people. Do you know if Suyin was directly elected?”

The look Lin shot him was enough to make Tenzin turn back around on Oogi’s head. _Of course she’s still not speaking to Su. Why did I have to say that?_ The last thing he wanted was Lin to refuse to talk with him for the remainder of their trip.

Fortunately, she had the decency to ignore his blunder. “An elected leader might be a good idea. If people feel like they have a say in who’s setting the laws, they might not be so quick to break them. But if you want my opinion, you’ll need to figure that out fast. Amon successfully took over the city. If we remain leaderless, it’s not going to be long before someone else does the same. And unless whoever it is also has a dirty bloodbending secret, we might not get it back this time.”


	3. Asami I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asami returns to Republic City to find a surprise waiting for her.

> _The Equalism issue is dying fast; it will be forgotten before election. And the issue of extortion is being murdered by idiots. Day by day its exponents pile up proofs that to be a United Republican, as they conceive it, is to be a poltroon and an ass. Two issues show some likelihood of surviving. One is the issue of national independence—what is now visible as the anti-Fire Nation issue. The other is the issue of personal freedom._
> 
> -Mongang, The Republic City Sun

 

She had taken no more than ten steps onto the docks when they found her. Asami knew it the second she laid eyes on the pair of men: the pressed suits, the appraising looks. It was exactly what she had spent the entire journey home worrying about, sitting alone on the deck, her heavy coat doing little to keep her warm.

There was nothing that could have stopped her mind from racing, but she had found it especially irksome to be around others on the ship. Initially, the relief of Korra’s healing had been immediate, and Asami even allowed herself to enjoy the few days following in Harbor City: racing snowmobiles, learning to change Rohan, listening to Katara’s stories.

Yet as soon as it was time to head home, her thoughts took a darker turn, to her father. She and Bolin had personally seen to Hiroshi’s confinement, choosing to lock him up in his own cell. They had handed over the key to General Iroh once he returned from his successful attack on the biplanes, and then left the compound on Naga as quickly as possible. But many questions still remained for Asami: what would happen to her father now? Could he be executed for this? What would happen to Future Industries? Where would she live? What did she _want_ to happen?

Each question was as fruitless to try and answer as the last. And being in the presence of her friends, Pema, and her children, all of whom seemed overly eager to return to the city, only served to make Asami feel more alone than she had in a long time...perhaps since her mother’s death. So instead, she chose to sit alone on the ship's deck, where she at least had the peace she needed to entertain her thoughts, the cold, salted air feeling somehow calming.

Adding to this was Korra and Mako’s burgeoning romance. Asami had no reason to begrudge it, she knew. She had already come to the realization that Mako was not quite mature enough for the type of relationship she needed. The thought had crystallized back in the sewers when he donned a solemn expression to tell her, “I’m sorry things got so messed up between us.” As if some kind of mysterious, ineffable forces had caused their problems rather than his own behavior.

She also knew if anyone deserved to be in a happy relationship, it was Korra. Even so, seeing the two of them together made Asami feel a pang of jealousy. _But you don’t want to be with Mako_ , she would tell herself. Still, there was no denying her feelings, as much as they confused her, so Asami contented herself to give the new couple the space they deserved, and the distance she had come to crave.

She was unsure if her absence was even noted by the others. Only Bolin ever thought to seek her out when she would retreat to the deck. The first time he found her, she had been lying on a bench, staring up at the stars. Despite her best efforts to wrap her scarf, her face was still numb, and her lungs hurt with every inhale.

“What are you doing out here? Aren’t you cold?” he had asked.

Asami hadn't even bothered to move. “You can’t see the stars like this in the city, Bolin,” she said vaguely. “I just wanted the perspective.”

Bolin had been clearly at a loss for what to say, but sat down on the bench by her feet and looked up. “It’s uh...it’s nice, I guess.” He let his head flop from side to side. “That group kind of forms Pabu’s head, doesn’t it? That constellation, I mean.” The night after getting her bending back, Korra had personally shown the city-dwellers where the major constellations were located in the sky. Bolin had been quite proud when he managed to successfully point out the platypus-bear without any help the following evening.

“Maybe it’s a good omen for the Fire Ferrets next season,” Asami told him.

“Maybe? Yeah! Is that how these things work? Korra didn’t mention fortunetelling.”

“Anytime there’s something we can’t immediately understand, there’s fortunetelling.” _Maybe I should look for my own omens._

“I guess that makes sense,” Bolin said, though his tone had suggested otherwise. “There was this one guy on the streets—he used to predict the weather based on where chunks of meat floated in the street gruel. He was always right though! People would even pay him a couple of coppers to hear the forecast. It was spooky.”

Asami had laughed and sat up at that. “It was misdirection, Bolin. I’m sure he was predicting the weather from other factors. He just pretended it was about the street gruel so you’d think he had a gift worth paying for.”

“What? No way! How do you know that?”

“Family secret.”

A look of comprehension had flickered across his face. “Hey, come on, we took care of him, didn’t we?”

“Yes, no more hiding for Dad—or me for that matter.” Asami looked away, over the rail where the black water stretched out as far as she could see. “Just cold, hard truths. A scientist’s dream.” She gave a bitter laugh.

Asami hadn’t needed to look at Bolin’s face to sense his bemusement. “Uh...I think...maybe we should go inside? You seem...cold, or something. Are you okay?”

She had no desire to answer the question, no more than she wanted to go inside. It was as though her mind had become suddenly alive, racing towards _something_ , some discovery or conclusion that was only just eluding her. “You go ahead. I’ll be there soon. Let me just try to read my fortune a bit longer.”

Whether scared or simply confused, Bolin had decided there was no use in pushing the matter. He rose and headed towards the door to the hull, offering only a quick, “just don’t freeze out here, okay?” before wrenching it open and walking inside.

The few other times Bolin found her after that, he had made sure to keep the conversation light. And brief. Somehow his presence hadn’t been bothersome, but Asami could always feel his unease. _He’s worried_ , she had realized, though there was still a sense of comfort in knowing that he would never broach the topic with her unprompted.

However peaceful she had found her solitude, Asami had made sure to eat with everyone, even donning a fake smile if the situation demanded it. If anyone else knew something was wrong, they gave no indication. Pema seemed as hassled as ever, now trying to keep Meelo and Ikki in-check with Rohan permanently glued to her arm. Jinora had been slightly sea-sick, and confined herself to a cabin full of books. And Mako and Korra were distracted by...Korra and Mako.

Asami always managed to slip back to the deck without so much as a second glance, where she could silently dread her return to her home. And that was how the four-day boat ride from the Southern Water Tribe to Republic City passed.

The two men waiting for her on the docks were proof that her worries had been justified. She saw Pema, who had been approached by an air acolyte, giving them a questioning look, but no one else seemed to have taken notice. Ikki, Jinora, and Meelo were practically off the wharf already, running up towards the temple with Naga in tow.

Asami drew a deep breath and stepped forward, doing her best to don an approachable smile. “Miss—Asami Sato?” the man on the left asked.

“Yes.”

“You’ve been served.” He extended the scroll towards her. “This is a subpoena. The International Military Tribunal requires your testimony two days from now, at the Republic City Police Headquarters.”

She took the paper, her fingers, somehow steady. “The International Military Tribunal?” she asked, glancing between the two men.

They exchanged a look, clearly unsure of what they could say. The man on the left tried again. “We were simply instructed to deliver your summons.”

“But under whose auspices?” Asami insisted.

“The—the authority of the tribunal,” the man on the right tried. When she met his eyes, the tips of his ears turned red.

“Woah...what’s this?” Mako’s voice asked. She turned to see him approaching, Korra close behind. Bolin was still by the ship’s ramp, helping the acolytes unload the luggage.

The two men looked as though they wanted to run. “We were just looking for Miss Sato,” the man on the left said sternly, as Asami handed the scroll to Mako.

“Are you in trouble?” Korra asked, confused.

Asami shook her head slightly. “You’ve been summoned to testify at a deposition,” Mako said slowly, his eyes scanning the document, “by the honorable Judge Hotah? No wait, there’s four judges listed here. Professor Hengli, Colonel Jenifa, and...Bumi?” He looked up in confusion.

“Is something wrong?” Pema had extricated herself from the acolyte and approached the group.

“I’m sorry, we can’t explain anymore,” the man on the left insisted, though the man on the right shot him a questioning look. “We have to leave.”

“You’re _going_ to explain,” Korra said, pointing two fingers in his direction. “Don’t you know who I am?”

“Korra,” Mako said in a warning tone, handing the subpoena back to Asami.

She took the paper and turned towards Pema. “There’s some sort of military tribunal in place. I’m assuming to try the Equalists.”

Korra’s face darkened at that, but Mako looked more confused. “What about the Council?”

“What’s going on here?” a voice called, making all six of them jump. Asami looked beyond the two men to see Tenzin hurrying in their direction.

The man on the right breathed a sigh of relief. “Councilman Tenzin,” he said, turning. “We were sent by the tribunal with papers.” He gestured towards Asami.

The man on the left cut in. “But we should be getting back.”

“Ah, I see,” Tenzin said, scanning everyone’s faces. “Thank you; I can take it from here.”

The two men didn’t need telling twice. They turned and without another word scurried up the wharf.

“Tenzin, what’s going on?” Pema asked as soon as they were out of earshot. “A _military_ tribunal? What military?”

“There’s many matters to discuss...trials, elections...we should head inside.” He shook his head. “Korra! How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling fine,” she answered. Bolin appeared by her shoulder, a small trunk in hand, but she paid him no mind. “Just confused.”

“I’ll explain everything inside,” Tenzin said.

Mako frowned. “But it doesn’t make sense. We all fought the Equalists together. Why would Asami be summoned to the police station and not us?”

“Whaaat?” Bolin exclaimed. “Asami’s wanted by the police? But she’s innocent! Aren’t you?” he asked, turning towards her.

“What? Of course I am!” she said. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her. “It’s because they want me to testify against my father.”

The looks on their faces at that suddenly filled Asami with the urge to jump into Yue Bay. Tenzin at last managed, “We really should head inside,” to which everyone immediately and enthusiastically agreed.

As it turned out, his “many matters to discuss” proved to be an incredible understatement. In the two weeks since they had last seen him, the Tenzin had managed to put together an international military tribunal to handle the Equalist trials for eighteen known officers, dissolved the United Republic Council, set-forth a provisional government led by himself, the Fire Lord, the Chief of the Water Tribe, and a representative of the Earth Queen, got Lin her position as Chief of Police back, and was about to begin drafting a new constitution for the United Republic that would establish a directly-elected president.

He sounded exhausted as he explained all the developments. Though day-to-day peace was being kept by the United Forces, under the command of General Iroh, along with Fire Lord Izumi who had even brought her own troops to aid in that effort, there was still much leg-work to do. From the sound of it, Tenzin wanted the trials over as quickly as possible, so the city’s focus could turn to the election. The plan was to have two rounds of voting: a primary that would be open to anyone able to collect two-thousand signatures, and a second round for the top three candidates from the primary.

He had already announced the election schedule at a press conference, though he admitted the constitution itself would take some time to complete. “We set up the Tribunal in a day,” he had told them. “We all were able to agree that each of the nations should have a judge and prosecutor. We had to confirm the Earth Queen’s choices by radio. Then it was only a matter of waiting for the appointees to travel to the city. As of yesterday, they’re all here.” He had nodded towards Asami, as if she was proof of that. “We’re happy to let the Tribunal and Lin’s police force take care of the trial. Figuring out this new government, though...it’s a nightmare. At least I can finally appreciate what Dad went through when founding the Republic.”

Tenzin also mentioned that Korra would be needed to restore many people’s bending—Lin’s metalbenders most of all. “I’m sorry to do this, but your work will need to start tomorrow,” he had told her. She had just shrugged and insisted that she was eager to get back in action.

Though the conversation stretched into the night, Asami found herself awake at the first light of the morning. The thought of the deposition the following day kept her restless. She knew she ought to travel back to her father’s estate, if for no other reason than to check on Daiske, the family butler, but she was scared of what awaited her. The place would no doubt have been ransacked by the police already, and she wasn’t sure if she could handle being back there just yet. Besides, Asami didn’t even know if she was legally allowed to be there.

Instead, she contented herself to read every newspaper she could find from the past two weeks, fascinated by the developments Tenzin had detailed. Every so often, an article would mention her father, or Future Industries, and her stomach would give an unpleasant lurch. Still, she forced herself to press on, determined not to worry about it until after her testimony.

By the early afternoon, she had exhausted all her reading material. She wanted to ask Bumi for as many details on the Tribunal as she could get, but the Commander had needed to go downtown, no doubt to review the legal proceedings with the other judges. Asami was about to try pestering the acolytes and White Lotus guards for any news not covered in the papers, when Bolin and Mako turned up, suggesting that they go to the second-half of the press conference outside City Hall where Korra was healing Amon’s victims.

It proved to be a monotonous ceremony, elongated by the lengthy applause each time someone new was healed. Asami couldn’t help but notice that for every few beaming faces in the crowd, there was at least one casting a suspicious eye towards the raised platform. _No wonder Tenzin wants the focus on the elections_ , she had thought. It seemed the people wouldn’t want _everything_ restored.

The ceremony had to be cut off as the sun began to set, though the line of benders waiting still stretched on. Tenzin and Korra found Asami, Mako, and Bolin afterwards. “You guys don’t have to come tomorrow,” she told them, sounding exhausted. "I wish _I_ could skip it. If people hadn't been clapping so much, I could have gotten through everybody."

“You did well today Korra,” Tenzin assured her. “Though Lin’s still worried about not having a large enough force, what with the increased security demands. She’s considering opening it up to all citizens.” He shook his head. “Come, let’s worry about that later. For now, we should get back and have dinner.”

The evening passed pleasantly enough, and Asami was almost able to be distracted by the idle chit-chat. Yet just before everyone retreated to their dormitories, Tenzin pulled her aside. “I’m not supposed to talk about the trials with anyone,” he said, “but I know you have this deposition tomorrow. I just want to make sure you’re prepared.”

“I... I am,” she assured him, though she was hardly convinced herself.

“And you have a lawyer?”

“No. My father’s going to be using the family attorney, and I don’t know of anyone else to represent me.” She also wasn’t sure she had access to her funds to even pay a lawyer if she somehow managed to find one, though felt it best to leave that out. Tenzin had already given her so much, and the last thing she wanted was to seem like she was fishing for charity. “Besides, I haven’t done anything wrong. It’s my father who needs the lawyer; I’m just providing testimony to _his_ crimes.”

Tenzin grimaced. “Yes, but testimony can open you up... It would be for your own protection.”

“I don’t need protection,” Asami insisted. She felt tears forming in her eyes and dropped her gaze. “I’m innocent.”

“If you’re sure,” he said hesitantly.

“They’re trying Equalists. And I fought against them, with you...with Korra.”

“That is true,” Tenzin conceded. He cleared his throat. “Korra and I will be taking Oogi tomorrow morning so she can finish healing the benders. We can drop you off at the Police Headquarters first thing.”

“I—I would like that.”

In fact, despite dreading the destination, Asami had found herself strangely eager for the flight over. But that proved uneventful soon enough. Tenzin seemed determined not to discuss anything of significance, and Korra was still half-asleep, slumped in the saddle. “This is ridiculous,” she mumbled. “I could have been done already.”

“It must be nice to be helping everyone though,” Asami offered. “You’re giving people hope again.” Though if it was hope for the right people, she could not have said.

“I guess it’s better than everyone yelling at me for messing things up,” Korra answered with a laugh.

Asami was about to ask her if that meant that she actually enjoyed living in the city now when Oogi began his descent. “Police headquarters,” Tenzin said solemnly. “Looks like the streets are busy today. You’ll be okay taking the ferry back to the island afterwards?”

“Of course, and thank you,” she said. Turning towards Korra, she gave a quick, “Good luck today.”

“You too.”

Asami climbed off the bison with as much dignity as she could, careful not to mess up her clothes. She had selected to wear her most professional suit jacket, determined not to be treated like ‘daddy’s little girl.’

No sooner had Oogi taken off then she was approached by a woman carrying a clipboard, a giant button on her suit with the letters ‘PNP.’ She seemed to leap in front of Asami. “Join the First People’s National Party of the United Republic! First to form, first to care! We’ll bring you a candidate of the people.”

“Oh, I...” Asami looked behind her, where the steps to the police headquarters were only a tantalizing few yards away.

Before she could say more, a man raced up to her, megaphone in hand. “The _Labor_ Party is the only party for _real_ citizens,” he said. “We already have more members than the PNP,” he lifted the megaphone to his mouth, “and the Labor Party cares for the workers!”

Asami raised a hand to her ear, which was now ringing. “I’m sorry,” she told both of them, “I don’t have time right now.”

“Please, it will only take a minute,” the woman was saying, but Asami side-stepped them and pushed towards the building, away from the bustling street.

She had just about reached the first step when someone grabbed her wrist. “Let go of me!” she said, instinctively pulling her free arm back to strike. When she saw that the hand belonged to an old, stooped woman, she immediately paused.

“The Fire Nation’s looking to take over the city!” she declared, gesturing wildly towards the doors of the police station. “Just yesterday, I saw two Fire Nation soldiers guarding that entrance!”

Asami’s eyes flicked towards the door, where a pair of Lin’s metalbenders stood watch. _It was probably temporary until Korra healed the police_. “I’m sure it’s fine,” she told the woman.

“It’s not! You kids don’t appreciate it, but _I_ remember! They were never happy with how the war ended...ash makers are always wanting more, like that Fire Lord Zuko!”

“He’s not the Fire Lord anymore,” she said, wondering why she was even engaging in the conversation.

“Of course he is! They’re fooling you too! That’s what the Fire Nation does, but you kids don’t appreciate it.”

“I’m sorry, I have to go.” Asami wrenched away from her and ran up the stairs. She showed her subpoena to one of the guards, who waved her inside. Once in the foyer, she was directed by a desk officer to a “meeting room” down the hall. Yet no sooner had she pushed open the door than she realized what it truly was: an interrogation room. _Isn’t this excessive?_ Still, all the tension went out of her when she found that her father was nowhere to be seen.

Lin Beifong stood by the doorway. When she saw Asami enter, she gave her a small nod and a grunt, which Asami interpreted as a greeting. “Good morning, Chief Beifong.”

There was a long, rectangular table set up. At the far end sat two men and two women she had never seen before, each wearing a solemn expression. Behind them, a court reporter was lurking behind a desk in a shadowy corner. At the end of the table closest to her sat Kayuqtaq, the family lawyer. _My father’s lawyer,_ she reminded herself. He was reading a newspaper and holding a cup of tea, seemingly unaware of her entrance.

One of the men at the far side stood. He wore a red suit jacket with a Fire Nation lapel pin. “Miss Sato,” he said in a clear voice. “Thank you for coming. I am High General Shirou, the lead prosecutor for this tribunal. May I present Lieutenant General Rosomi of the United Republic, Chieftain Amaqjuaq of the Southern Water Tribe, and General Mayleen of the Earth Kingdom.”

“A pleasure,” she managed, feeling her palms beginning to sweat.

He looked towards Kayuqtaq and cleared his throat. The lawyer glanced up from his paper with a raised eyebrow. “She knows me, General.”

Shirou swallowed. “This is being documented, Kayaqtaq.”

He smirked and dramatically threw the newspaper onto the table before him. “Ah. Then hello, I’m Kayaqtaq, your _father's_ legal council.”

Asami inclined her head, but said nothing.

Shirou rolled his eyes, but continued. “Before you can sit down, Miss Sato, we need you to recite a witness’s affirmation. If you don’t mind…”

The United Republic Lieutenant General rose and passed a small sheet of paper to Asami. She read, “I do solemnly, sincerely and truly declare and affirm that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

“Excellent. Everything following is on the record. You may sit anywhere.” Shirou took his own seat again. “Do you mind stating your full name and age for our records?”

Asami selected a chair directly in the middle of the table, scared what message it would send to be too close to one side. “My name is Asami Sato, and I am eighteen years old.” Her nineteenth birthday was in a matter of weeks, but she decided against mentioning that.

The High General nodded towards Rosomi, who was still standing. She cleared her throat before speaking. “We would like this deposition to be governed by the usual stipulations.”

Kayaqtuq didn’t miss a beat. “And perhaps you would care to explicate what those stipulations are?”

“That all objections, except as to the form of the question are reserved until trial.” Rosomi said, through gritted teeth.

He gave a mocking smile. “See, how hard was that?”

“Miss Sato,” the Lieutenant General said, turning her head, “have you ever been to a deposition before?”

“I have not,” Asami said, wondering if that was the wrong answer.

“Do you know what they’re about?”

“I...” she felt her embarrassment growing, but remembered her affirmation. “I understand the general point, I think.”

Rosomi offered a small smile. “Well, just to clarify, we’re going to ask you questions about your father’s Equalist connections and actions. Kayuqtuq may ask questions of you as well. The reporter in the corner is taking down a written record—a transcript. After the deposition, you may review the transcript to make any corrections before signing it, and confirming its authenticity. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. It’s very important for you to understand everything being asked today, so if there’s anything you’re unclear on, please let us know.”

“I...okay,” Asami said, wondering if it was standard procedure for lawyers to treat witnesses as if they were seven.

“To give you some background, the four of us are the appointed prosecutors for this International Military Tribunal, agreed upon by Fire Lord Izumi, Chief Unalaq, Earth Queen Hou-Ting, and Master Tenzin of the Air Nation. As the prosecutors, we are tasked with proving the war crimes committed by the terrorist organization known as the ‘Equalists’ among their ranking officials. They will be tried before judges from all the nations as well, and if found guilty—”

“I think that will do,” Kayaqtuq interrupted. “Miss Sato here knows fully well her father’s involvement with the Equalist Movement, as we discovered through the testimonies of General Iroh II and former-Councilman Tenzin.”

Shirou shot him a look. “We’re providing the witness with context.”

“You are not,” Hiroshi’s lawyer said, coolly. He turned to face Asami. “They’re trying to intimidate you, showing off their position. Is it working? Don’t let it.”

“Kayaqtuq, don’t make us go to the judges.”

He laughed. “That much is up to you. I’d just as soon get into your questions that I’m going to object to, and I’m sure Miss Sato would appreciate that as well.”

 _Don’t assume what I would appreciate_ , she thought. Kayaqtuq was her father’s creature, however charismatic he was. And for all the prosecutors knew, she was a loyal daughter, planning on lying to cover up Hiroshi’s mistakes. Of course they'd want to emphasize the seriousness of the deposition.

Shirou looked like he wanted to object, but Chieftain Amaqjuaq stirred in his seat. “Just get to the questions then,” he barked. “We have too much to do to waste time with Kayaqtuq’s histrionics.”

“Oh _I’m_ the one with a penchant for the theatrics?” he shot back.

“Enough!” Shirou snapped. “Our apologies Miss Sato.” He gave Rosomi a stiff nod, and she walked back to her own seat. Once she was settled, he leaned forward, towards Asami. “When did you learn of Hiroshi Sato’s involvement with the Equalist movement.”

 _That’s certainly getting right to it._ “Uh, about a month ago,” she said. “The night Chief Beifong’s police force showed up to search our estate. They discovered a hidden factory beneath my father’s workshop, which was full of his...Equalist technology.”

Rosomi barely let a second pass before asking the next question. “Why did you go into the hidden factory?”

“Objection to form,” Kayaqtuq said lazily.

The prosecutor tried again. “What did you see exactly when you entered the hidden factory.”

Asami wracked her brains, thinking back to the night she had spent weeks trying to forget. “There were Equalist posters hanging, and mecha tanks. My dad had...he had attacked the Police Chief and Tenzin and—”

“Objection, hearsay.”

“That’s not a form objection,” Rosomi said irritably.

“But a valid one in any trial, and you know it. It’s nothing that can be used against my client.” Kayaqtuq turned to face Asami once more. “Tell us, did you personally see Hiroshi Sato attack Lin Beifong or Tenzin, or anyone else?”

“Well...no, but I saw him—”

“So no.” Kayaqtuq gave a mocking smile.

Rosomi ground her teeth again. “You saw your father in the factory though?”

“Yes,” Asami said immediately, turning back towards the Lieutenant General.

“And can you tell us exactly what happened?”

“I—my father was standing, wearing two electrified gloves,” she answered, thinking how she could phrase it the most objectively. “He was talking to my friends, Mako and Bolin, who were trying to carry Tenzin and Korra out of the factory. I asked Da—my father to stop, and then asked him... 'Why?'” She could feel her heart begin to race as the memory came flooding back. “He told me...he told me he had tried to keep me out of this for as long as he could, but that benders had ruined the world. Then he said that Amon could fix it.” Her throat was dry when she finished speaking.

Kayaqtuq let out an audible sigh. “Yes, yes, we know that Hiroshi is an Equalist. And from what Miss Sato just said, he kept her out of it. Former-Councilman Tenzin already told us about this factory, as well as Miss Sato's actions on that night. There is simply nothing new that this witness can offer the tribunal. I move for her to be dismissed.” Asami stared, feeling an odd mixture of gratitude and disgust.

Shirou’s face was pure anger. “Don’t be so sure, Kayaqtuq. “Miss Sato, tell us about your father’s airfield.”

“Objection to form.”

“Miss Sato, tell us about the Equalist airfield.”

“Objection to form.”

The High General slammed his fist on the table before trying again. “Miss Sato, did you find an Equalist airfield?”

“Objection to form.”

“How?” Shirou yelled.

Kayaqtuq’s voice was calm as ever. “Miss Sato is not qualified to assess whether an airfield was owned and operated by the Equalists.”

Shirou took a deep breath and tried once more. “Miss Sato, did you attempt to locate your father on an airfield?”

“Yes,” she said quickly, before there could be an objection.

“Could you tell us what happened?”

Asami did her best to recount the events of that day: walking into the electrified fence, being freed from the prison by Naga, taking over a mecha tank and attempting to destroy the biplanes. When she began to explain her fight with her father, Kayaqtuq cut her off. “Miss Sato just admitted to attempting to destroy her father’s property. His response in protecting it, as he saw fit, is outside the scope of this trial.”

Shirou flushed. “How can you say that? These planes were being used _by_ the Equalists _for_ their airstrike.”

“Now you’re speculating about my client’s motives in his altercation with his daughter. It seems to me that something of that nature would be more _personally_ motivated, no?”

Rosomi lay her hand on top of Shirou’s and the two exchanged a look. Then she stood, her hands folded behind her back. Amaqjuaq leaned forward, though General Mayleen seemed just as passive and disinterested as she had throughout the deposition, her head resting on one of her hands.

“Miss Sato,” Rosomi said, her voice steady, “you say you didn’t learn of Hiroshi’s involvement with the Equalists until the night the factory under his workshop was exposed. Had he never mentioned them before?”

“I...” Asami glanced around the room, suddenly nervous. She and her father used to talk about everything, or so it had seemed to her. All those years, the subject _had_ to have come up. And yet her mind was drawing a blank, as it had every other time she had tried to reflect on it. “I don’t recall.”

“Really? No...mentions of Amon at the dinner table?”

“Objection.” Kayaqtuk sounded almost irritable. “If you’re going to lead her, at least be subtle about it.”

Rosomi barely hesitated. “Did your father ever say anything against benders?”

“Objection to form. Complaints about benders do not make someone an Equalist.”

The Lieutenant General turned towards Hiroshi’s lawyer. “Given that we’re dealing with a known Equalist, a commander at that, it is important to establish the timeline of Hiroshi’s involvement. His daughter offers unique insight—”

“And if it were a hundred years ago and we were living in the Fire Nation, perhaps that ‘unique insight’ would be admissible in a court of law,” Kayaqtuk said, nodding towards Shirou. “I will object to every question along these lines, so let’s just skip to the part where you dismiss the witness and stop wasting everyone's time.”

Rosomi looked at Shirou and gave him a nod. As she sat, he stood. Asami felt her stomach clench, though she didn't know why. She didn’t like the way Amaqjuaq was staring, and even Mayleen was sitting straighter than before.

“Miss Sato, you were arrested by Councilman Tarrlok, is that correct?”

“Uh—yes,” Asami answered, surprised by the question. _What does this have to do with my father?_

“His file says that you were out past the established curfew for nonbenders, and you were also obstructing justice,” Shirou said. From her periphery, Asami could see Kayaqtuk lean closer. “Could you explain what happened?”

“I...I was in a car with the Avatar, Mako, and Bolin. It was one of my father’s cars, and it had a police scanner in it...”

“A police scanner?” Amaqjuaq called out, seeming excited. Shirou shot him a look, but the Chieftain continued. “Do you know when that police scanner was installed?”

“Objection to form,” Kayaqtuk’s practiced voice called.

“Fine,” the Major General said. He gave a dismissive wave in Amaqjuaq’s direction. “I’m sorry, please continue describing that night, continue Miss Sato.”

“We had wanted to help fight the Equalists,” she said. “Patrol the city with the Avatar. We heard over the police scanner that there was a disturbance...armed Equalists. When we arrived on the scene, we found Councilman Tarrlok using police officers to confine a large crowd of innocent nonbenders. The police tried to take them in, but Korra used her earthbending to free everyone. That was when the councilman arrested me.”

“Quite the tale. How did you know these nonbenders were innocent and _not_ Equalists?”

Asami paused, certain Kayaqtuk would object. Yet it never came. “Oh...uh...they—they were just civilians. Their lights had been turned out, which is why they went into the street. They didn’t look armed, and there were lots of families.” She glanced towards Kayaqtuk, who met her gaze with hard eyes.

“But you can’t know for sure,” Shirou said.

“Well, no, of course not, but Tarrlok—”

“Your friends, this Mako and Bolin, they were arrested too, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And when the Avatar went to confront Tarrlok about these arrests, he used his bloodbending to kidnap her?”

Asami suddenly felt uncomfortable talking. “I didn’t see it myself, but that’s what she said, and there was a Council Page who confirmed it.” _Where is the objection?_

Shirou began pacing the floor. “So let me get this straight. You had access to one of your father’s cars and used its police scanner. You then drove the Avatar and her colleagues to a disturbance that was characterized as the convening of Equalists. Korra then set these supposedly innocent nonbenders free, causing Councilman Tarrlok to arrest you and your friends for the obstruction of justice?”

“Well...yes.” She could taste the bile in her throat.

“Then sometime later, you led General Iroh II to an airfield where you were immediately incapacitated by an electrified fence and then locked up?”

“I didn’t _lead_ him,” Asami objected. “We were trying to take down the planes so that Commander Bumi’s fleet could retake the city. We set out together.”

“So you say,” Shirou said. “Unfortunately, it’s not so clear-cut. There’s strong evidence that _you_ could be Equalist conspirator, perhaps feigning your allegiance to the Avatar and her allies.”

“What? No! I... _fought_ the Equalists. I freed Tenzin, I... I fought my father!”

“But if we can’t guess at his motives there, then we can't guess at yours either,” the High General said triumphantly, pointing at Kayaqtuk. The attorney was resting his chin on his hands, but his eyes were flashing with interest. “Miss Sato, we have no reason to doubt you, but you have to understand why a trial would make us all feel better.” Asami felt as though the wind was knocked out of her. She barely heard Shirou give the command, “Chief Beifong, kindly arrest the witness.”

“No.” Lin’s voice sounded far away, but there was no mistaking the word. Asami had all but forgotten she was in the room.

“Excuse me?” Shirou spit. Rosomi half-rose from her chair.

“You don’t command me!” Lin said.

“You’re serving at the pleasure of a provisional government,” Rosomi pointed out.

Lin nodded. “And that government is not you.”

“We can go to the tribunal judges and get an arrest warrant, and then you’d _have_ to listen to us,” Shirou said.

“You want to do that? Do that. But guess what, you’d also need an arrest warrant for me. _I’m_ the one who freed her after Tarrlok locked her up. Or how about Korra? She’s the one that helped these nonbenders you’re apparently so concerned were secret Equalists.” Lin folded her arms. “Make no mistake, you arrest Miss Sato for fighting alongside the Avatar, and the papers will hear about it.”

Shirou’s lip curled. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a fact. I won’t let you use my department to arrest people you know are innocent because you’re being outmaneuvered by a clever lawyer.” She gestured towards Kayaqtuk, who was failing to suppress a smile.

“I could go to the judges—” Shirou began, but Rosmi stopped him.

“This is on the record,” she said in a warning tone. She donned a smile and looked towards Asami. “Miss Sato, to be clear, a trial wouldn’t be unheard of in your situation and given these circumstances. However, for the present, we’re satisfied with the testimony you’ve given. I do think High General Shirou forgot that you had personally fought multiple Equalists to free Councilman Tenzin the day that these police headquarters were gassed. An understandable mistake, I hope you agree; we’ve already heard several depositions.”

Asami stared. _Does she really think this will save face?_ Still, she knew better than to look a gift ostrich horse in the mouth. “Of course, I—I understand.”

“Wonderful. Kayaqtuk? Do you have any further questions for the witness.”

“Oh, I think that was quite thorough, don’t you?” he laughed.

Asami could see Shirou’s fist curl. Rosomi clenched her jaw once more, but when she spoke again, her voice was as pleasant as ever. “Then in that case, I move to end this deposition, unless my co-councilors disagree?” Amaqjuac gave a grunt and folded his arms, and Mayleen gave a small shake of her head.

Rosomi continued. “Wonderful. Miss Sato, as I said before, the questions and answers today will be typed up by the court reporter into a deposition transcript. You have the right to read the deposition and review the answers. As an alternative, you can also rely on the court reporter to have taken down everything you said accurately, in which case you waive the requirement of signature.”

“I...” she could see Shirou glaring in her direction. Asami knew it would be smarter to read the transcript, but she wanted nothing more than to get as far away from the prosecutors as possible. “I’ll rely on the accuracy of the court reporter.” She looked towards the corner where the reporter sat, covered in shadow. The man did not so much as look up from his stenotype.

“Then you’re free to go,” Rosomi concluded, her tone dripping with false kindness.

Asami didn’t need telling twice. She gathered up her handbag and rose from her chair. She wanted to thank Lin, but knew better than to say anything in front of everyone. Instead, she gave her a small smile. Lin inclined her head ever so slightly, but her face remained stony.

Once in the hall, Asami allowed herself a sigh of relief. As she brought a hand to her eyes, she realized she was shaking. She started towards the main foyer, when a voice from behind stopped her. “Miss Sato, wait.” It belonged to Kayaqtuk.

She turned, a sinking feeling in her stomach. “Yes?”

“Well, that was amusing, wasn’t it?”

“Were they really going to arrest me just so they could question me without you in the room?” she asked, putting a hand on her hip.

He shrugged. “I can be bothersome. But so can you, it seems. Who knew you had friends in such high places? No doubt your father will be pleased to hear it.” He reached into his coat jacket and drew out an envelope.

Asami eyed it, horrified. “Don’t tell me _you_ want me as a witness.”

A shadow flicked across Kayaqtuk’s face. “I think we both know how much help that would be for me. No, I’m afraid it’s a bit less thrilling than this trial. Well, depending on your viewpoint anyway. Your father signed over all his assets to you—public and private.”

The words didn’t seem to make sense. “All his assets?”

“Well, not _entirely_ all. He left himself a small account for certain fees. Attorney fees, for instance.”

“But...if he’s acquitted, or given a short sentence…”

“Then, no doubt, Hiroshi will expect this generosity to not be forgotten.”

Asami’s anger was on her in a second. “You can't be serious. He—he tried to kill me.”

Kayaqtuk gave another shrug. “Perhaps he has a new perspective now. For what it’s worth, I advised against this, but he was quite adamant.”

“I don’t want this,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s not generosity; it’s a bribe.”

“Call it what you will, Miss Sato. But the estate and Future Industries are yours now. If it's truly not what you want, then I’m afraid you’ll have to be the one to sell them yourself.”


	4. Raiko I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raiko declares his candidacy.

> _When Mr. Raiko prepares a speech he does not think it out in terms of an educated reader locked up in jail, but in terms of a great horde of stoneheads gathered around a stand. That is to say, the thing is always a stump speech; it is conceived as a stump speech and written as a stump speech. More, it is a stump speech addressed primarily to the sort of audience that the speaker has been used to all his life, to wit, an audience of small town yokels, of low political serfs, or morons scarcely able to understand a word of more than two syllables, and wholly unable to pursue a logical idea for more than two centimeters._
> 
> -Mongang, The Republic City Sun

 

“I think you should go with the blue, dear.”

Raiko cocked his head as he looked into the mirror on the wall. “Are you sure? I like this shade of red.”

Buttercup moved gracefully to where he was standing and pulled on the left side of his necktie until it slipped out of the knot. “Blue brings out your eyes more.”

He furrowed his brow, trying to ignore her soft touches. The last thing he needed was to be distracted. “It doesn’t make me look too...Water Tribe?” Though Raiko had lived in the United Republic his entire life, he had almost entirely inherited his mother’s looks. He didn’t want to send the wrong message.

It was his campaign manager who answered, looking up from the various papers she had scattered on the desk. “It’s the Fire Nation look that’s the problem right now. Besides, your suit places you as a city man to the core.”

Buttercup was now fussing to place the blue tie back around his neck. “I still say my purple jacket works the best.”

Kushala shook her head slightly. “Dark purple evokes gloom. Dark blue evokes knowledge and integrity. Trust me on this. The entire city will be looking at a _leader_ today.”

“Will they ever,” Buttercup agreed, bringing the knot up to his throat.

Raiko absentmindedly adjusted his cuff links. _Women do know these things better_. “We’re still confident that mine is the first speech?” The Labor Party had secured their two thousand signatures the day before according to their sources, yet the press had not been alerted about any upcoming candidate announcements.

“Shia seems to think that their party’s leadership wants to benchmark against you today,” Kushala answered. “Xar will use your speech to write his own, and then capitalize on any perceived weaknesses.”

“And you’re sure we shouldn’t be doing the same thing?” He looked once more in the mirror. His eyes did seem brighter against the blue tie. He gave his wife an approving nod.

“Positive. You’re making the first impression of this election, and that won’t go forgotten. When people picture ‘the candidates,’ it will be your face they see.”

He fixed his eyes on his campaign manager. The PNP chairman had assured him that Kushala was the best money could buy. She had successfully run the campaign for the Governor of Yi, who ended up winning by over two-thirds of the votes. Yet there was something about her confidence that Raiko found immensely off-putting. _She’s only been here one day and she’s speaking in certainties?_ “So when Xar makes his speech that is designed to tear me down, what then?”

There was a knock on the door as it pushed open, revealing Sasros, the PNP’s Communication Director. “There’s a great crowd outside,” he said enthusiastically, striding forward. “Buttercup, you look absolutely stunning.” He took her hand and kissed it, before meeting Raiko’s gaze. “How are you feeling? Prepared? Is there anything you need?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” he answered, with a smile. “I’ve practically memorized my speech.”

Sasros beamed, and turned towards Kushala. “They’re ready for us in ten. What’s the status?”

The campaign manager rose from her chair and adjusted her vest. _So, she can be intimidated_ , Raiko thought triumphantly. Still, when she spoke there was no trace of nerves in her voice. “Everything’s in order. You’ll deliver Raiko’s introduction, and then following his speech there will be time for photos. No follow-up questions. After that, we’ll move to the rented hall for the PNP dinner, which is where you take over."

Sasros gave a chuckle. “And tomorrow?”

Kushala waved a hand. “I’ve already filled up most of Raiko’s week with events. Tomorrow he’ll be going to a senior center, the Earth Kingdom Cultural Center, the um…” she hastily rifled through papers.

“That’s okay, that’s okay, details later,” he said, holding up a hand. “I just wanted to make sure we have some place for him to offer follow-up comments.”

 _They’re talking about me as if I’m not in the room_ , Raiko realized, to his disgust. “Speaking of ‘follow-up,’” he said in his most authoritative voice, “you never answered my question, Kushala.”

Both she and Sasros jumped at the interruption. “Question...oh yes! What we’ll do after Xar’s speech.” She looked back at the Communication Director. “Before you had come in, Raiko and I were talking about how the Labor Party was purposely holding their candidate’s announcement so his speech can counter ours.” Kushala paused, tucking a stray piece of hair that had come loose from her ponytail behind her ear. “Fortunately this speech is...unique, in that there’s not a lot that can be countered. It’s a call to reason, really.”

“Sasros has heard it already,” Raiko said. As soon as he had learned of the campaign, he set to writing a speech, knowing this was the job he was meant for. Raiko had then sought out Rong, an oil tycoon that was rumored to be forming a political coalition. He had delivered his speech at their first meeting, and Rong had been so impressed, he demanded Raiko return the next day to make it again, this time for a room full of people. As it turned out, it was the founders of the First People’s National Party of the United Republic.

“Ah, then you know its advantages,” Kushala said. _That wasn’t your song last night_ , Raiko thought.

“Of course,” Sasros said. “I’m lucky I’m speaking first today. I wouldn’t want to follow it.”

Kushala laughed pleasantly. _She’s faking; can’t he see?_ “Well, in the off-chance Xar does come up with an effective answer, there’s still going to be more and more candidates declaring soon. We can wait for _them_ to bloody him up, while Raiko here keeps his positive image.”

He frowned. “Is there any news about who these other candidates might be?” he asked, looking towards Sasros.

The director shrugged. “We’ll check in with Shia at the dinner. As far as I know, there’s been no announcements.”

“There’s been some emerging parties though,” Kushala said, once again rearranging the papers on her desk. “Some prominent benders have teamed up for something called the ‘Heritage Party,’ but the details are still unclear, and I doubt such a platform could be popular right now. Then there’s the ‘Harmony Party,’ who from what I can tell, hold all of Amon’s views.” She looked up to see their expressions and gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “They’ll take themselves down, no matter who their candidate is. Oh, and then this is interesting: beyond the city, there’s some noise being made in Pohuai. Looks like they might get enough to run someone of their own.”

“Is that all?” Sasros asked.

She shrugged. “Some talks about an environmentalist movement, then there’s people trying to get signatures to stop the ‘Fire Nation takeover’...”

“That’s so many!” Buttercup remarked. Raiko jumped slightly, forgetting she was still by his side.

Kushala gave her a small smile. “It’s less than it seems. And once enough candidates throw their hat in the ring, most of these parties will fall apart. The field will balance itself, you’ll see.”

“This ‘Heritage Party,’” Raiko said, “Is General Iroh their candidate?”

“We don’t know yet, but I sincerely doubt it,” she answered.

“Well if he isn’t _their_ candidate, he’s going to be someone’s.”

Sasros scratched his ear. “Is this because of that poll?”

 _Of course it’s because of that poll_. “He won it by a significant margin,” Raiko said. Immediately after the press conference where it was announced that there would be a direct election for the next leader of the Republic, the _Daily Gazette_ conducted a poll where they asked the people who they would pick as their president. General Iroh II had received forty percent of the votes, the winner by almost twenty points.

“That wasn’t exactly...scientific,” Kushala said, making no effort to disguise her scorn. “Avatar Korra came in second place, and she’s not even old enough to run.”

“And both Amon and Goph, the zoo’s badgermole, placed in the top six,” Sasros said with a smile.

Raiko tried not to scowl. “It’s not that the poll was accurate,” he said. “It’s that anyone who performs that well on it would have to seriously consider running.” _Am I the only one with any sense in this room?_

“But is he even eligible? You have to be a citizen of the Republic.”

“There’s no minimum requirement for how long though,” Raiko pointed out. “He could become one tomorrow and declare his candidacy the next day.”

Kushala looked skeptical. “There’s been no indication that he’s going to do that. A prince of the Fire Nation, changing citizenship? Even though he’s not the crowned prince, that would still be...unprecedented.”

 _They’re only telling themselves what they want to hear. They’re scared_ , he realized. He took a breath. “Let’s hope you’re right then. He would be my biggest adversary.”

Sasros clapped Raiko on the shoulder. “This race is wide-open for you, we promise.” He broke away and looked back towards Kushala. “I’ve got to get out there for my announcement. They’ll come grab you when I’ve got about two minutes left.” When she nodded, he gave one final smile at Buttercup. “Mrs. Raiko, always a pleasure,” he said. Then he turned and strode out of the room.

The sound of the door closing made Raiko’s stomach give an unpleasant lurch. _You have no reason to be nervous_ , he told himself. Indeed, the feeling had passed as quickly as it had come. Public speaking had never bothered him. For as long as he could remember, Raiko enjoyed explaining things to others. As a young adult, he became a teacher for a few years to channel that. However, his third term brought him a particularly quarrelsome class, and he soon decided that career was not worth the aggravation. It was then that he enlisted in the United Forces, hoping to rise through the ranks as some sort of officer. Yet after a year, he became very aware of just how deep the nepotism of the military ran.

Once his two-year obligation had been fulfilled, Raiko had returned home and taken the first job he could find: a reporter for the _RC Daily News_ , the least successful of the city’s major papers. He had been assigned the legal beat, which had proven exciting for a time, but Raiko’s editor was continually pushing for an anti-bender stance, feeling as though the extremism would be the only way to sell the issues.

That was when Raiko discovered that _The Republican Star_ was for sale. It was a small newspaper, technically only circulating in Harbor Town, a smaller village to the south of the city. But it meant he could be the editor. Though his mother had disapproved, his father had given him a small loan, which allowed Raiko to purchase the paper and get started. Then that was that. He had been smart enough to take a tempered editorial stance, which in turn had attracted advertisers for probending events. It turned the finances around, and even put Harbor Town’s other local paper out of business. More importantly, as an editor, Raiko had been able to gain access to many important city events and network with the movers and shakers. It was there that he learned how to communicate clearly, and how to get people to open up for him.

 _I have a gift for this_. If only his mother could see him now, about to become the first presidential candidate for the United Republic.

He adjusted his tie and turned towards Kushala. “You have my speech?”

A closed look flickered across her face. She reached for a small stack of papers near the corner of the table. “About this…” she said, holding it up.

“We’re not having this conversation again.” From his periphery, he saw Buttercup bring a hand to her mouth.

“I’m not going to fight you, don’t worry.” Kushala bit her lip. “I just think it’s a little too lengthy.”

Raiko glared. _That was half our fight_. Still, it was better than her complaints about ‘tortured language’ and a ‘lack of focus.’ _And yet none of the PNP leadership had trouble following_. “I am giving my speech in five minutes.”

“I know, and I’m not saying to change the content.” She thrust the papers towards him. “Look, all I did was draw brackets around three paragraphs I think you could skip. Well...four.”

He took his speech, noting the red ink. “The paragraphs build off of themselves. I can’t just arbitrarily skip any, or it won’t make sense.”

Kushala narrowed her eyes slightly, but forced a small smile. “If that’s what you think, then you can ignore it. But I did make my selection carefully.”

Before he could answer, there was another knock on the door. Kushala opened it to reveal a young man carrying a clipboard. He smiled pleasantly at Raiko, but made no move to enter the room. “They’re almost ready for you, Sir,” he said.

As he quickly straightened his jacket, Buttercup kissed him on the cheek. “You’ll be great,” she said in a husky whisper. He patted her arm and strode toward the door.

“Good luck, Raiko,” Kushala said, failing miserably at sounding earnest.

The trio followed the man down a spiral staircase and through a hallway. At the end, he pushed a door open that led to the outside. Raiko could hear Sasros’s voice becoming clearer. They were led to the wings of the stage, hidden from the audience by a makeshift curtain. Raiko took a deep breath of fresh air as his eyes scanned the stage. It was sparse; a podium and simple, white backdrop. _Good. Nothing to distract the people_.

He tried to read the top page of his speech, though barely took anything in. At last, he heard Sasros say, “And so, ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, I give you the First People’s National Party of the United Republic’s candidate for President, Mr. Raiko!”

He strode forward toward the podium, turning his face towards the cheering crowd and giving an easy wave. The lights from the cameras were blinding as he and Sasros shook hands. “You’ve got this,” the director murmured in Raiko’s ear.

It wasn’t until Raiko set his speech down on the podium that he saw the size of the audience. The square was full, and there were even people who had climbed up the base of Fire Lord Zuko’s statue. He felt his heart leap into his throat, but it was only for a moment. As soon as he began to talk, it was as though no one else was there.

“Thank you, Sasros, for that kind introduction.” Raiko paused, licked his lips, and pretended to give the audience a sweeping look. When he spoke again, he made sure his voice was as authoritative as possible.

“The call of the conscience of the United Republic is peace; peace that closes the gaping wound of revolution, and silences the impassioned voices of envy and distrust. Heeding this call, I promise you formal and effective peace. Then we will continue our readjustment at home, while proceeding deliberately and reflectively to that hoped-for world relationship that shall satisfy both conscience and aspirations, but still hold us free from menacing involvement.” The crowd had become so quiet that Raiko was sure he would be able to hear a pin drop. _I have them_ , he thought, his heart soaring.

He placed his hands on the edges of the podium. “I can speak unreservedly of the United Republican aspirations to attain and preserve peace through justice rather than force, determined to add to security through laws so clear, that no misconstruction can be possible without affronting honor.

“The mistaken voice of this country led us, in an hour of deepest anxiety, into a militant state that threatened peace and all freedom, instead of adding to our security. It is up to us to speak the truth for the Republic and express our hope for the fraternized conscience of our society.

“The way is very simple. Let us find the big, practical, unselfish way to do our part; neither greedy because of ambition nor hesitant through fear, but ready to serve ourselves and humanity.” He picked his left hand back up, and began to gesture along with his words. “Understanding makes us a willing participant to peace and justice, both national and international, still leaving the United Republic free, independent, and self-reliant, but offering friendship to all the world.”

Kushala’s first pair of brackets marked the next paragraph, which Raiko ignored. Instead he looked up, determined to make eye-contact with the crowd. “To those who call for more specific details, I remind them that moral committals are broad and all-inclusive, and we are contemplating peoples in the concord of humanity's advancement. Our viewpoint is specifically Republican, and we mean to be Republican first, to all the world.

“It is folly to close our eyes to outstanding facts. Humanity is restive; the agents of discord and destruction have wrought their tragedy in our country, and we are fools to pretend that the torches they lit were extinguished with Amon’s departure. The United Republic must not only save herself, but ours must be the appealing voice to sober the world.” He let his words sit for a moment, knowing the tonal shift of the next section. _If Kushala had heard me at the PNP meeting in the first place, she would have realized that my delivery is what makes it_.

“I want, somehow, to appeal to the sons and daughters of the Republic; to every producer, to join hand and brain in production, more production, honest production, and patriotic production, because patriotic production is no less a defense of our civilization than that of armed force. Profiteering is a crime of commission, underproduction is a crime of omission. We must work our most and best, else the destructive reaction will come, as we have seen all too recently.

“The human element comes first, of course. And I want the employers in industry to understand the aspirations, the convictions, and the yearnings of the Republican wage-earners. I want the wage-earners to understand the problems, the anxieties, and the obligations of management and capital; all of us must understand our relationship to people and our obligation to our nation. Out of this understanding will come the unanimous committal to economic justice, and in economic justice lies that social justice which is the highest essential to human happiness.”

Raiko turned the page to find Kushala’s second set of brackets. His throat was getting dry, and skipping ahead was beginning to seem tantalizing. _No, this is the speech that won me the nomination_. He continued. “I am speaking as one who has counted the contents of the pay envelope from the viewpoint of the earner as well as the employer. Nothing is so imperative today as efficient production and efficient transportation; to adjust the balances in our own transactions and to hold our place in the activities of the world. Our part is more than to hold, we must add to what we have.

“No law will work the miracle. Only the Republican people themselves can solve the situation. There must be the conscience of capital in omitting profiteering, there must be the conscience of labor in efficiently producing, and there must be a public conscience in restricting outlay and promoting thrift.”

His eyes barely even took notice of her third set of marks. Raiko looked to the front row of the audience where a woman looked close to tears, clearly moved by his words. “In all sincerity I promise the prevention of unreasonable profits. I will challenge profiteering with all the moral force and the legal powers of this new government and the people. But it is fair, it is timely, to give reminder that law is not the sole corrective of our economic ills.

“These things I can only mention for now. Indeed, for the present, many questions of vast importance must be hastily passed, reserving a fuller discussion to suitable occasion as the campaign advances. But let me make my own stances clear.” He paused and cleared his throat to prepare for the final section of the speech. His eyes quickly fell on a toddler in her father’s arms, her head slumped against his chest. _I’ve always been told my voice was soothing_ , Raiko thought, a swelling feeling in his chest.

He gestured with both his arms now. “I believe this new government should be made more business-like.

“I believe in a great merchant marine—I would have this Republic the leading maritime nation of the world.

“I believe in a navy ample to protect it, and able to assure us dependable defense.

“I believe in a small army, but best in the world, with a mindfulness for preparedness which will avoid the unutterable cost of our previous neglect.

“I believe in established standards for immigration, which are concerned with the future citizenship of the republic, not with mere manpower in industry.

“I believe that every man who dons the garb of United Republican citizenship and walks in the light of Republican opportunity, must become Republican in heart and soul.

“I believe this new government should stamp out the triads and remove that stain from the fair name of this nation.

“I believe bending citizens should not be pre-judged, nor assumed in any way responsible for the stain. It is the actions of the few, not the many that is the issue.

“I believe nonbending citizens of the Republic should be guaranteed the enjoyment of all their rights.

“I believe in law-enforcement. If elected President, I mean to make it unthinkable to evade the law, when our every committal is to orderly government.” Once again, he let his words hang in the air. A few rows back, he saw two men nodding at one another.

“Many of these declarations deserve a fuller expression, with some suggestions of plans to emphasize the faith. Such expression will follow in due time, I promise you.

“For now, it is to these aims that I pledge myself. Mindful of the vast responsibilities, I must be frankly humble, but I have that confidence in the consideration and support of all true Republicans which makes me wholly unafraid. And thus, with a hopeful spirit, I pledge fidelity to our country, and accept the nomination of the First People’s National Party of the United Republic for the presidency of this great nation.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, as Raiko took a small step back from the podium, the square exploded into applause. A smile came naturally to his face as he drank in the excitement. _Let Xar try to come after me_ , he thought. _The people are speaking already_.


	5. Tenzin II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tenzin continues his work with the world leaders to restore order in the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Tribunal  
> Judges:  
> -Hotah (NWT)  
> -Professor Hengli (EK)  
> -Bumi (UR)  
> -Colonel Jenifa (FN)  
> Chief Prosecutors:  
> -Chieftain Amaqjuaq (SWT)  
> -Lieutenant General Rosomi (UR)  
> -General Mayleen (EK)  
> -High General Shirou (FN)
> 
> Presidential Candidates & Parties  
> -Titarri, Bending Heritage Party of the United Republic  
> -Xar, Labor Party,  
> -Raiko, First People’s National Party of the United Republic (PNP)  
> -Zaccor, Green Party  
> -Pundarik, Natural Law Party of the Republic  
> -Bahira, Harmony Party  
> -Niu, Bloc Pohuai
> 
> Royal Fire Family:  
> -Izumi (62), Fire Lord  
> -Eito (61), her husband & consort  
> -Dorisu (38), her daughter and crowned Princess, married to Makittuq of the SWT, parents of Ariha (11), Qannik (6), and Tetsu (2)  
> -Iroh II (36), her son  
> -Eimi (23), her daughter
> 
> * * *

 

 

> _The people of the United Republic, true enough, are koala sheep. Yet worse, to borrow from their own dialect, they are goat dogs. They are thus constantly bamboozled and exploited by small minorities of their own number, and by determined and ambitious individuals, and even exterior groups. The business of victimizing them is a lucrative profession, an exact science, and a delicate and lofty art. It has its masters and it has its quacks.  
>  _
> 
> -Mongang, “The Republic City Sun”

 

“I’ve already told you! I am _not_ giving an endorsement!” Tenzin snapped.

“You never spoke with us before,” a woman in a bowler cap shouted defensively.

“Well if it wasn’t you, it was some other pack of reporters!” He was already running late for his meeting, but as had been the case for the past week, several members of the press had seen fit to accost him on the street. This time it was a smaller group at least—no more than eight reporters. Not that it made them less bothersome.

A portly man jostled the woman out of the way. “Well could you at least tell us if, as a spiritual master, you agree with the NLP’s guiding principles?”

The Natural Law Party of the Republic was the latest political party to have a candidate declare. Though Tenzin did not see the speech, he had read about Pundarik’s call for a ‘return to spiritualism’, even going as far as to criticize Korra for never discussing the matter in her public appearances. _Why would she? I haven’t had the time to instruct her yet_. But could he instruct her on such matters? He pushed the nagging thought out of his head. “I refuse to comment on any party platform. Please, I need to be on my way.”

The woman tried again. “Surely you have an opinion on Bahira’s proposed ten-ten plan?”

“I—what is that?”

“It’s his plan for a ten percent income tax, ten percent corporate tax.”

“Well that...I don’t know, I suppose that sounds low,” Tenzin said, hoping a declarative statement would end the conversation.

As he walked past, he heard their trailing shouts. “Is this a meeting with Fire Lord Izumi?” “What can we expect from the trials?” “Were you invited to attend the Labor Party dinner?” He allowed himself a small airbending boost to move faster.  

The remaining two blocks of his walk to City Hall were mercifully uneventful. There were canvassers shouting at him, but he had already learned to tune them out. He was nearly running by the time he reached the steps. _I ought to request a small bison stable be built closer._  Yet once the new government was safely established, would he even need to go to City Hall? It was an odd thought.

Tenzin raced towards the spiral staircase. Originally, he and the other leaders had held their meetings in the Council Room. Yet reporters had made the habit of showing up early and sitting in the audience chairs, hoping to overhear some of the conversation. Tenzin and the other leaders would invariably order the room cleared, but the continual waste of time had proven grating. Worse still, with the United Forces and policemen still tied-up with Equalist investigations and street patrolling, it was mainly Izumi’s guards who kept watch over their meetings. As she noted, having the Fire Nation military throw the reporters out didn’t ‘send the best message.’

For that reason, they instead moved their meetings to a smaller office on the third story, which was suitable, but stuffy. _We would have had to move out once the trials begin anyway_ , he reminded himself. Tenzin whisked up the stairs. This time, it was a pair of Unalaq’s men who were standing guard outside. One of them opened the door for him as he approached.

The Chief of the Water Tribe himself was seated at the small, rectangular table in the center of the room, drumming his fingers impatiently. To his left sat General Guo of the Earth Kingdom, a man so old that even Katara seemed in her prime of life compared to him. Both chairs at the ends of the table were unoccupied. The Fire Lord was standing, looking out the window, her hands clasped behind her back.

As Tenzin entered the room, Unalaq stopped his drumming and attempted a small smile. “Councilman.”

Izumi looked over her shoulder at the doorway. “You’re late. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, of course,” Tenzin said, “I was just held up by some reporters.” _That, and my run-in with Lin._ He slid into the empty seat to Guo’s left. “General,” he said, nodding in his direction.

Guo’s blinked a few times, as though just seeing the airbender. “Yes—erhm—hello,” he managed. Tenzin tried to ignore the strong smell of rice vinegar coming off of him.

“Reporters?” Izumi’s gaze was back to the window. “Were they asking about the election, or—”

“Of course they were asking about the election,” Unalaq cut in. “Biggest poodle pony show in town.”

She turned fully around at that, but fixed her attention on Tenzin, waiting for an answer. “They’ve been trying to get me to endorse a candidate,” he confirmed. “I’m sure they’ll give up eventually.”

“I hope so,” Izumi said, moving noiselessly across the room to take her own seat. “We’re too much in the public eye as it is.”

Tenzin sighed and brought his hands together. “Then I’m afraid you won’t like what I have to tell you.” Izumi’s eyes narrowed, though Unalaq’s face remained impassive. Tenzin could not tell of Guo was even awake. He sighed. “The press doesn’t know about this yet, but Lin came to see me this morning. It seems Tribal Chief Amaqjuaq had an...incident last night.” The chieftain from Harbor City was a member of the tribunal prosecution.

“Well...what was it?” Unalaq asked, impatiently.

“He er—” Tenzin felt his face growing hot. “He solicited a woman for...certain services. A woman he believed to be a...a....”

“A prostitute?” Izumi asked. Tenzin nodded. “You said ‘believed.’ Does this mean she was not?”

“Um...well, no,” he said. “Apparently things got a bit out of hand. Amaqjuaq is currently out on bail, but Lin said the woman could make noise if she wanted to.”

“They do things differently in the South,” Unalaq said with a wave of his hand. “The charges should be dropped. He has diplomatic immunity.”

“Even if, indeed, no such laws exist for the Southern Water Tribe, that still doesn’t change the fact that Amaqjuaq is not a diplomat,” Izumi said in a cold voice.

“We could dismiss him for his alternate,” Tenzin suggested.

“The trials begin the day after tomorrow, and General Shesh is back home in the North,” Unalaq objected. “Even without immunity, we should still be able to get Lin to drop the charges. These trials are a matter of national security.”

“I’m inclined to agree with Chief Unalaq,” Izumi said. “We cannot afford for the integrity of the tribunal to be called into question at this point. Whatever else he may be, Amaqjuaq is a capable prosecutor, and that is what matters.”

Tenzin frowned. “But if this woman goes the press, the integrity of the tribunal may be called into question anyway.”

Izumi turned towards the Chief. “Unalaq, you must meet with her. Assure her that the chieftain will be censured once returning to his home after these trials conclude.”

“I must?” he asked. “And what if she still decides to take matters into her own hands?”

“Have her sign a nondisclosure agreement.”

“Why would she agree to that?”

“Because as the Chief of the Water Tribe, I’m sure you can be quite persuasive. Unless you would rather that I handle it?” Izumi’s expression seemed passive, but there was a hardness in her eyes that sent a shiver up Tenzin’s spine.

Unalaq’s lip curled. “I wouldn’t want you to trouble yourself.”

“Good. Guo,” she said, looking towards the Earth Kingdom General, “is this agreeable to you?”

For a minute the old man did nothing at all. Then he lurched to life, let out a small belch, and said, “The Earth Queen submits to the wisdom of this council.”

Tenzin pinched his eyes, before bringing his hand down to his beard. For the past week, that was the only thing Guo ever seemed to say. Originally, the Earth Queen had told them that she was sending Gun, her Grand Secretariat. Yet a day before his supposed arrival, she sent a wire insisting that she could not do without him. She had proposed a Dai Li Sergeant in his stead, but both Tenzin and Izumi were worried how that would appear to the public. They convinced Hou-Ting to send a member of the Council of Five, and so she had: a veteran of the Hundred Year War at that. Yet once the old man arrived, it was clear that he would be able as useful to the process as the monarch herself, still walled up in Ba Sing Se.

Tenzin cleared his throat. “Lin also had other concerns about the tribunal.”

“And you reminded her that she couldn’t discuss the details of the depositions with you, I’m sure,” Unalaq said dispassionately.

“She didn’t mention specifics. Just that she feels the lead prosecutor is a bit...overreaching at times.”

Izumi clasped her hands on the table in front of her. “That is for the judges to determine; not the police chief.”

“But if this becomes too hostile against nonbenders—”

“I appointed High General Shirou as a prosecutor because I believed he would present the best case possible against the Equalists,” Izumi said. “I appointed Colonel Jenifa as a judge because I believe she is fair. The Equalists on trial will have defense lawyers who will no doubt do their jobs to the best of their capabilities as well.” She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer. “Tenzin, I’m not saying this tribunal is infallible, or that the verdicts will be perfect. But the trials begin in two days, regardless of Lin’s concerns. For now, we must trust in our decisions already made.”

“And that includes keeping your brother as a judge,” Unalaq said, a slight smirk on his face.

Only a few days prior, Tenzin had tried to argue that they’d be better off using the United Republic’s alternate. _Bumi just isn’t serious enough_ , he had thought. Though he told them his concern was that his brother couldn’t be impartial, given that he was the son of Aang.

“Bumi is a Commander of the United Forces and a prominent nonbender,” Izumi had said. “I can think of no reason to replace him.”

Unalaq had agreed. “The judges are two benders and two nonbenders. Bumi’s alternate is an earthbender, if you recall. It’s not a good idea.”

“The Earth Queen submits to the wisdom of this council,” Guo had said.

Tenzin shook the memory from his head. “If that’s what you think,” he told them. “But we should keep an eye on these trials.”

“The point of the tribunal was so we wouldn’t have to,” Unalaq said. “We have a government to establish, in case you forgot.” There seemed to be an odd bit of disdain in his voice.

“The judges will bring any complaints about due process before us,” Izumi assured Tenzin. “Which takes us to the point of this meeting. We need to finalize these guidelines that determine what constitutes a war crime.”

At that moment, the door swung open to reveal a man carrying a tray with a teapot and four cups. “Fire Lord—” he began.

Izumi cut him off with a casual gesture towards the table. He rushed over and began to serve the tea, while Unalaq rifled through several folders. “Here we are.” The Chief sounded bored as he slit a stack of papers towards the center of the table. “I believe the last item we discussed was that tu quoquo defenses may not be employed.”

“Will you be needing anything else?” the tea-pourer asked, as he set the final cup in front of Tenzin.

“No, thank you, Lee,” Izumi answered. She waited for him to leave before speaking again. “We agreed that defenses based on superior orders should be prohibited as well. The structure of the Equalists is still widely unknown, so we must try these supposed officers as individual actors.”

Tenzin frowned. “I’m still concerned about how these war crimes were not codified at the time they were committed. We are creating them after the fact, and there are some who might view that as unjust.”

Unalaq sighed. “The Equalists must be punished somehow, Tenzin. Just because the founders of this Republic were myopic when it came to establishing a functional legal order does not mean the wanton destruction of property, the use of weapons that cause unnecessary suffering, the taking of hostages, and torture should be dismissed.” He offered a small smile, but his eyes looked hard. “People had their bending taken away en masse. Though I suppose that might be something your father never wanted to make a crime, given his use of the act?”

The words sat uncomfortably in the air. “My father...couldn’t have known,” he managed at last.

“As I said: myopic.”

“Tell me, Chief, do such laws exist for the Water Tribes?” Izumi narrowed her eyes at Unalaq.

“I...well... We don’t have the composition of Republic City, and our own laws are—”

“So, no,” she finished. Unalaq’s ears began to turn red, but she shifted her attention to the old man. “And General Guo, I believe the same is true of the Earth Kingdom?”

He turned his head towards Izumi, blinking sleepily, but it was Unalaq who answered. “I studied Earth Kingdom law when I was a student. Aside from the international agreement about terms of occupation, their laws also would not cover these crimes either, no.”

Izumi nodded and looked to Tenzin. “These principles were never codified, that is true. But they were no less universally understood. My country still pays reparations for crimes that would not have been found in any book at the time. That is simply not a suitable justification.” She paused to take a sip of tea. “I’m afraid this is the best we can do for now. These war crimes must be defined for the tribunal. To do anything less would present too large of a risk to the stability of the Republic.”

“I agree,” Unalaq said, though his upper lip was curled again. “General Guo?” The man was still blinking at Izumi, seemingly unaware of his surroundings, until Unalaq nudged him with his elbow.

“What? Oh...um, the Earth Queen submits to the wisdom of this council,” he mumbled.

 _This doesn’t feel right_ , Tenzin thought, though he knew he was outnumbered. Besides, what other option was there? For lack of anything better to do, he took a drink of his own tea. It was so gingery that it burned his tongue and made him break into a fit of coughs.

“Good, if we’re agreed on that, then perhaps we should first amend our opening clause about transitional justice to include how a lack of internal laws does not relieve a person from international law or convention.”

In the end, it only took a few hours to finish the document. They managed to sort the principles into three categories: crimes against peace, war crimes, and crimes against humanity, the last of which was reserved for the “purification” of benders. However, they also included language guaranteeing anyone accused of such crimes the right to a fair trial.

Tenzin had a hard time disagreeing with anything said, yet there was a nagging feeling in his stomach that if the punishments against the Equalists were too extreme, it would only exacerbate the tensions that allowed Amon to rise in the first place. _The election will help in that regard_ , he told himself. _It has to_.

Once they had finished their work, Izumi sent Guo to deliver a message to the tribunal judges for them; they would have to review the principles, which would require an earlier meeting time for them the next day. _Bumi won’t like that_. As the old man shuffled out of the room, Unalaq rose as well. “I suppose I should handle this Amaqjuaq situation before any unpleasantness,” he said. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Izumi answered.

The Chief gave what might have been a smile in her direction, though it looked more like a grimace. “Tenzin,” he said, pushing his chair back into the table, “I hope the reporters can stay away.” He strode towards the door.

Tenzin sighed. “I’m more concerned that they’re going to start trailing after Korra. I don’t want her getting caught up in this election, not when she’s just learning her airbending.”

Unalaq paused and looked thoughtful for a moment. “Yes...I should pay my niece a visit one of these days.”

“You’re always welcome at Air Temple Island,” Tenzin said automatically. It was only polite.

“Perhaps,” he answered. “Until tomorrow.”

From across the table, Izumi made no move to rise. Instead she refreshed her cup of tea, calmly firebending it until it was steaming again.

“You’re always welcome at the island too, you know,” Tenzin offered, suddenly awkward by the silence.

“Well I do pay for it,” she said, sighing. Like her father, Izumi was known for a dark sense of humor. "But I wouldn’t wish to interrupt the Avatar’s training.”

“You wouldn’t. And I’m sure Pema would like to see you again. The last time you visited, I don’t think Meelo had even been born yet.”

“No. Dorisu was pregnant with Qannik at the time.”

“There’s a third grandchild now, right?” Tenzin asked, trying to remember what Izumi had written about her daughters.

She nodded. “Another boy, Tetsu. He just turned two. It _has_ been some time, hasn’t it? Perhaps a visit is in order. A formal visit even. I’m know Ariha would like to see Jinora again.”

Izumi’s granddaughter was of an age with Tenzin’s eldest, though the two girls hadn’t seen each other since they were five. From what Tenzin could remember, Ariha spent the entire trip quizzing Jinora on her knowledge of history as an excuse to show off her own, though he felt it best not to mention that. “I’m sure Jinora would be thrilled.” _It would be nice for Meelo to play with a boy his age, too._ “Perhaps now that we’ve finished everything for the trials, we will have more time.”

Izumi laughed. “Oh yes, we simply have to oversee this election and draft a new constitution.”

“I think it’s manageable,” he said. “Setting up the voting infrastructure won’t be easy, but the President is replacing the Council. I'm not sure we’ll need to rewrite too much.”

“The President, yes.” Izumi traced the rim of her teacup with her finger. “I suppose that decision cannot be undone.”

“Why would we want to?” Tenzin asked, alarmed.

An odd expression flickered across her face. “You’ve seen the candidates, I trust?”

“Of course I have,” he said, trying his best to keep his voice impassive.

“It’s quite the assortment. Whatever Unalaq may be, he was not wrong about the poodle pony show.”

Unbidden, Tenzin found himself thinking of Bahira’s ridiculous ten-ten plan. “Others could still declare.”

“And if they don’t?” She took a sip of her tea, though never broke eye contact.

“We shouldn’t judge them yet,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m sure whoever wins will be up to the task.” _They can’t be worse than Tarrlok, at any rate_.

Izumi’s mouth twitched. “You’re sure? From what I’ve seen, the only declared candidate with any sort of background suitable for such a position was Titari. Her father was a Councilman so she must at least have some semblance of an understanding about governance. But she’s a bender; she won’t win.”

“Well, I was a Councilman with my background.”

She gave him a questioning look. “Yes... And you’ve been shaped for both political and spiritual leadership since you could stand.”

“That’s my point,” Tenzin said. “Even with that, I was unable to govern the Republic the way the people needed. _They_ need to determine what makes someone qualified, not us.”

Izumi put her cup down and clasped her hands together. “Forgive my bluntness, Tenzin, but these are the same people who cheered as you and your family were brought out to become Amon’s next victims.”

He felt his mouth go dry. “That...that was not a majority of the people,” he managed.

“And yet it was enough to see Amon rise to power. Though tell me, do you _truly_ believe the majority understand what’s in their best interest?”

 _No_. “This is the only way. We can’t go back to a Council, not after seeing how easily it can become corrupted.”

“One leader can be corrupted with even greater ease, I'm afraid. Look at my nation’s history.” She shook her head. “Tenzin, our fathers made mistakes with this government, but one thing they were right about was the idea of wide representation. At the time, a leader from each of the nations guaranteed that there would be a balance in how the Republic proceeded.” He met her eyes once more and saw that her expression had softened. She continued, “The world’s changed since then; the Republic is its own country in need of its own representatives.”

“So what are you saying? That we should have a directly elected council? Five presidents?”

“Hardly. I think you would find only the city’s interests ever represented in that case.” Izumi adjusted her glasses. “But perhaps there should be a split in powers. As I said, we cannot undo the decision to have a President, but should that office be responsible for everything? I may have the final say about what happens in the Fire Nation, but I count on my Lord Treasurer to advise in matters of economics, my justiciars to sit in judgment, and my governors to manage local matters.”

Tenzin stroked his beard. “We had talked about establishing a ministry so the President would have others to help with the duties.”

“Yes, and what I’m suggesting is that perhaps some of those duties can be fulfilled by other elected officials as well. Duties that would formally be reserved for them. There could be a representative body responsible for creating laws, though it would be the President and the ministry responsible for their implementation.”

“I had a suggested something similar to Lin,” he remembered, leaning forward. “I said that for every hundred-thousand citizens of a bending ability, there should be one representative.”

Izumi looked towards the window, deep in thought. “Perhaps...but...we need to be forward thinking. The tensions between benders and nonbenders are certainly an issue now, yet in the future, it could be anything. Especially something regional, as the city grows.” She looked back. “I think it would make more sense if we divided the Republic geographically. Each region could have a governor, and perhaps two delegates who would be sent to the city to craft laws. But these so-called ‘political parties’ should only be allowed to run one candidate in each region. And they should be required to pass a test.”

Tenzin frowned. “What sort of test?”

She shrugged. “Contemporary history perhaps; the role of a government... Basic information to ensure that these delegates are qualified to lead in some capacity and understand the laws they mean to craft. I suppose we can’t require the presidential candidates to do the same at this point, though they really _should_ be asked these questions.”

“The press seems to be taking care of it.”

“I worry the people listen to the speeches more than the papers.”

Tenzin sighed. “You’re probably right. Still, this delegate system sounds promising. We’ll need to bring in Unalaq and General Guo on this.”

“We won’t,” she said simply. “Guo will agree to it if he sees that two of us already have. Even if Unalaq objects, he will be outnumbered. Though if we hurt his ego, it will make everything else we must accomplish difficult.” Izumi sighed. “Leave Unalaq to me. I will convince him before we meet tomorrow.”

Her words sent an odd chill up Tenzin’s spine. “Do you think voting for these delegates could happen by the second-round election? I don't see them needing more than one ballot.”

She furrowed her brow. “We will need a census to be able to create these regions, and we have just under four months before the second-round. It’s ambitious, but I suppose it is possible.”

“Perhaps Guo can take care of the census, while we work on the details of the constitution?”

“I don’t want that useless lush anywhere near it. Besides, we’ll need quite the force to accomplish this as quickly as want.”

“Would your son be able to help with his division of the Forces?” Tenzin asked.

“My son is apparently busy sweeping for Amon and upholding the peace. And I doubt he’s trained his troops to efficiently lead a survey of this magnitude.” She rose slowly. “My own forces will need to do the job. I brought enough of them with me, and with Lin increasing her number of police officers, they aren’t needed for security as much.”

“Fire Nation troops going door-to-door... Don’t you think that will send a message?”

Izumi’s mouth twitched once more. “I’m sure it will, but it’s to ensure that the people will be the ones who will send the _final_ message. The only question is if it’s one we want to hear.”


	6. Asami II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asami attends the first days of the Equalist Trials, but is not entirely prepared for the proceedings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Tribunal  
> Judges:  
> -Hotah (NWT)  
> -Professor Hengli (EK)  
> -Bumi (UR)  
> -Colonel Jenifa (FN)  
> Chief Prosecutors:  
> -Chieftain Amaqjuaq (SWT)  
> -Lieutenant General Rosomi (UR)  
> -General Mayleen (EK)  
> -High General Shirou (FN)
> 
> * * *

> _“The whole aim of practical politics is to keep the populace alarmed (and hence clamorous to be led to safety) by menacing it with an endless series of hobgoblins, all of them imaginary.”_
> 
> –Mongang, “Republic City Sun”

 

“Of course it is, under the law of all civilized peoples, a crime for a person with bare knuckles to assault another. How can it be said that multiplying this crime by a million, and adding electrified gloves to bare knuckles, make it a legally innocent act? How can participants in a Revolution claim a lack of culpability for acts intolerable in any age that has called itself civilized?”

Asami sat still, letting the words wash over her. She seemed to be the only one. All around her for the past few hours reporters had shifted uncomfortably in their seats, mothers had left the room to quiet their children, and flurries of low whispers had broken out. The man producing this effect was High General Shirou. He was now well into the third hour of his opening statement, yet somehow seemed no less energized than he had when he started. The prosecutor still paced the room, his voice ringing with emotion, accentuating each statement with emphatic gestures.

Asami saw and cared for none of it. She had eyes for one person only in the room: her father. It was proving a difficult task; she had purposely chosen a seat near the back, determined to avoid notice. However, it had meant that her view had been all blocked when her father was led to the defense table in handcuffs. Even now, she had to remain leaning to her left just to spot the back of his head through the courtroom crowd.

Hiroshi, for his own part, seemed blissfully unaware. Every so often, he would look to the side to scan his surroundings, causing Asami's stomach to give an unpleasant lurch. But his eyes never once wandered to the crowd behind him. Instead, he seemed to remain focused on the lawyers and the judges. _He'll be called soon_ , Asami would think. _He'll see me when he takes the stand_. Yet Shirou showed no signs of wishing to conclude.

“The wrongs which we seek to condemn and punish have been so calculated, so malignant, and so devastating that civilization cannot tolerate their being ignored, because it cannot survive their being repeated,” he was now saying.

He was not wrong, Asami knew. Each striking declaration he had made since he began his statement was in line with how she felt about the Equalist movement. The four indictments he spent the first hour of speech detailing—‘conspiracy to wage aggressive war,’ ‘crimes against peace,’ ‘war crimes,’ and ‘crimes against humanity’—were all warranted, and he had been quite convincing in creating a legal space for those charges. Yet somehow, every word out of Shirou’s mouth also filled Asami with a strange anger. _It’s because of my deposition, that’s all. The Equalists deserve everything being said_.

Hiroshi suddenly stirred, causing her to jump in her seat, but he simply scratched his ear. She closed her eyes and exhaled, feeling her heart in her chest. _I’m losing it_. Though no sooner had the thought entered her mind, then she heard her father’s voice saying, ‘ _One day, you will come to your senses and we can be a family again._ ’ When she opened her eyes again, she found them stinging with tears.

“Cries of Amon’s victims were heard round the world and brought shudders to civilized people everywhere.” Shirou was gesturing wildly toward the audience now.

“He’s gotta be reaching a conclusion,” Asami heard a woman whisper behind her.

“If he doesn’t, I’m going to have to get seven hundred words out just on the judges’ reactions,” came a man’s low voice.

“It’s an easy angle. Look at them, they’re buying it.”

“But if Sato’s lawyer opens tomorrow instead of today, will it be forgotten?”

“That’s the gamble. Just not sure the Fire Nation’s the one who should be throwing the dice.”

Someone pointedly cleared their throat nearby, silencing the whispered conversation, though Asami couldn’t help but consider their words. The judges did seem to be reacting to Shirou’s speech; the Earth Kingdom professor nodded his head every time the High General paused, the judges from the Water Tribe and Fire Nation would frequently exchange looks, and even Bumi seemed thoughtful, leaned forward in his seat, his chin rested on his hand. Perhaps forcing the judges to sleep on these words could prove to be an effective strategy. Yet Asami knew it would be dangerous to give Kayaqtuk a full night to prepare a rebuttal.

It turned out to be a danger the prosecution was willing to take. Shirou took another three hours to wrap up. By the time he reached his conclusion, Asami could hear the dryness in his throat.

“The refuge of the defendants can be only their hope that law will lag so far behind the moral sense of mankind that conduct, which is crime in the moral sense, must be regarded as innocent in law. Civilization asks whether law is so laggard as to be utterly helpless to deal with crimes of this magnitude by criminals of this order of importance. It does not expect that you can make war impossible. It does expect that your juridical action will put the forces of law, its precepts, its prohibitions and, most of all, its sanctions, on the side of peace, so that men and women of good will, may find protection under the law.”

For a moment, nobody stirred. Then, suddenly, there was a smattering of applause and an outbreak of murmurs, causing Hotah to bang his gavel and call for peace. Kayaqtuk leaned over and whispered something into Hiroshi’s ear.

When the Water Tribe judge spoke, his voice was calm and authoritative. “The Tribunal will resume at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. This court is adjourned.”

The clamor returned immediately. "I think I've got my angle," the man was saying now. "A tribunal drinking game. One sip for each time the word 'civilized' is used."

"Not sure you'd want that many deaths on your conscience," the woman quipped.

People all around were rising, forcing Asami out of her own seat. She tried to catch a glimpse of her father, but by the time she found a clearing in the crowd, the defense table was empty. She felt a wave of dizziness and had to grab the back of her chair for balance. When the head-rush passed, she pushed through the crowd into the aisle, and made for the doors.

“That’s the daughter!” she heard someone exclaim. She bit her lip, fighting tears once more. Asami quickened her pace, determined to leave the room as soon as she could. Somehow she navigated her way through the crowd and out of the building, though she could barely see where she was going. Once she was a good fifty feet from City Hall, however, she took time to breathe in the fresh, evening air. Her head cleared in an instant.

“All that, and I didn’t even need to go today,” Asami said shaking her head. She rounded the corner and walked three blocks to where she had parked, trying not to notice the numerous Cabbage Cars that lined the streets. She couldn’t blame anyone; she hardly wanted a Satomobile herself. Though lately she only felt at peace when she was behind the wheel, driving with no destination in mind.

Asami had found plenty of excuses for it. Everyone on Air Temple Island knew that she had inherited Future Industries. What they didn’t know was that she had spent the past five weeks hiding from that fact.

She hadn’t intended it. After allowing herself one day to recover following her deposition, Asami had forced herself to go to her estate, where she planned on going through her father’s study. She knew too well that the _real_ financial information about Future Industries would not be found in his factory office. Yet as she had approached the familiar mansion, she felt a building sense of dread. The day had been perfectly bright and sunny—completely opposite to the grim night which marked the last time she had been able to call the place “home." But somehow, the memories still came rushing back: the sound of metallic scraping, the smell of burnt cables and steel that had overwhelmed her when she had forced herself into her father’s secret factory, the fleeting sight from the police airship...

Asami was shaking by the time she finally had made it to the door, and when she reached out to open it, it wasn’t the wood she felt, but the inside of her electrified glove as it made contact with a body. She had turned and fled at that, making straight for the garage. There, she grabbed the keys to the first Satomobile she could find, and drove away at breakneck speed. She could have sworn she glimpsed her butler in her rear-view mirror, emerging from the house, but there was no stopping her.

The day after that, Asami had decided that she would simply go to the factory office. Whatever company information might have been in the estate was sure to have been seized by the police anyway. _Yesterday was stressful_ , she had told herself. _I can take care of this tomorrow_. When that tomorrow came, she suddenly decided that she needed to help Bolin recruit new members for the Fire Ferrets, and spent the day hanging up fliers around the city with him. The day after that, she had begun to drive over the bridge towards headquarters, but instead of making the left she needed, kept driving straight for an hour and a half. Then had come the day where she sat on a bench in Republic City Park staring for what she thought was ten minutes, only to realize four hours had passed.

The days—the weeks—melted away like that. Asami devoted much of her time to helping Bolin, even watching him spar with potential teammates, though at times seeing him earthbend brought back painful memories of fighting her father. Still, Bolin’s enthusiasm was practically infectious. She might have even enjoyed herself, yet with every passing day, her stress seemed to grow.

Finally, after three and a half weeks of doing her best to ignore everything, she came up with a plan: she would hold off on making any decision regarding Future Industries until her father’s sentence. _I can’t possibly run the company with his fate up in the air_ , she had told herself. It had almost seemed like wisdom. Yet now...

 _It’s going to be a long trial_ , Asami thought, climbing into her Satomobile. Even so, how was she supposed to run Future Industries with the possibility of his acquittal being right around the corner?

The sun had nearly set by the time she arrived at the docks. She parked and made her way to the boat that would shuttle her back to Air Temple Island, though the two acolytes on deck made no move to ready the sail as she stepped on-board. “Mako should be arriving here shortly,” one of them explained, apologetically. “If you’re in a hurry, I guess we can sail you back and he can wait?”

“No, of course not,” Asami said with a smile. “Waiting here is fine.” The same day as her deposition, Lin had announced to the city that the police force would be expanding to welcome all new officers regardless of bending ability, or even lack thereof. Mako had signed himself up at the first chance, and since then had been in intense training to become a cop. According to his most recent dinner update, he was hoping to be assigned the beat within the month.

It had suited Asami fine. Though she and Mako were certainly on friendly terms, he always seemed stiff around her. For her own part, she had done her best to pretend there was no awkwardness, but there was no breaking through; it was as if he had read a book about how exes are supposed to behave around one another.

When he turned up at the ship, he didn’t disappoint. “Oh...Asami,” he said as the acolytes moved and fussed with the ropes.

“Hi Mako,” she replied as warmly as she could.

He leaned back against the railing as the boat pulled away from the docks. “You’re uh...this is late for you to be in the city.”

“I see that police training is paying off.” She offered a smile so he would know she was joking, but he only furrowed his brow.

“I just mean that you’re usually on the island by the time I get back.”

Asami nodded, folded her arms, and leaned against the side of the boat as well. “I had a long day.”

“Late meeting?”

“Something like that. How was training?”

“It was good,” Mako said, almost sounding enthused. “I shadowed a patrol unit today.”

“That sounds exciting,” Asami offered, though nothing sounded worse to her. The boat picked up speed, causing her to shiver.

“Yeah it was—it was okay.” She nodded, but could think of nothing to say to that. After a minute of silence, he tried again. “Uh...was Bolin in the city today?”

She sighed and turned to face the water, still putting her weight on the ship’s side. “I’m not sure; I’ve been downtown all day. He didn’t mention anything to me last night though.”

Mako gave a curt nod. “Yeah, probably not then. And I think Korra was just training today.”

“I’d imagine you would know best.”

She had meant it kindly, but from her periphery saw him stiffen. “I...Asami...about the other day.”

She straightened up. “Oh, Mako, you don’t need to—”

“No. No, I want to apologize. You know that we’re not trying to...” he cleared his throat, “rub it in.”

Only two days prior, Asami had the unfortunate luck of walking in on Korra and Mako in the process of undressing one another. She had fled the scene quickly enough, yet once alone, felt oddly upset. _It’s never easy to see an ex with someone else, that’s all,_ she had told herself. Looking at Mako now, she could not imagine for the life of her what she had found so distressing. She certainly still thought of him as attractive, but it was as though she had left any piece of her that wanted to be with him in the sewers.

Asami realized she was staring. “I—it’s fine. Really. I’m happy for you and Korra, I promise. Though I would recommend not using the bathroom in the girl’s dormitory in the future.”

He gave an embarrassed smile in spite of himself. “Right.”

Mercifully, the boat arrived at the island at that moment. Asami could not tell if she or Mako was in a bigger hurry to get off of it.

She gave him space that night, opting to sit at the end of the dinner table near Tenzin, as well as Bumi once he made it back from the city. The judges were apparently required to have an hour debriefing session each night, which he complained about bitterly over his steamed vegetables. Asami wondered if the Commander had seen her at the trial, but he said nothing either way. Instead, he asked Tenzin if he could take Oogi for his eight o’clock call-time the following day.

“My meeting with Izumi isn’t until ten,” his brother answered, shaking his head. “And we need to fly to Pohuai after that. You’ll have to take a boat instead.”

“Sounds like one lively trip,” Bumi said sarcastically. “If there’s one person more focused on work than you, it’s ‘Zumi.”

Tenzin’s neck turned red. “There’s nothing wrong with focusing on work!”

Bumi laughed, but Asami turned towards the airbender. “Tenzin, I also need to be downtown at ten. Would I be able to ride with you?”

“Of course. I can drop you off at Future Industries on the way.”

“Oh no, I...” She realized she couldn’t tell him she was heading to City Hall without him figuring out why. “I need my car. It’s parked by the docks.”

He nodded. “That’s even easier for me.”

“Maybe you should take this one with you to Pohuai,” Bumi said, grinning. “Someone else married to their job.” Asami nearly knocked her tea over, but somehow forced a smile all the same.

That night, she dreamt of strong arms encircling her, and for a moment all seemed right in the world. Yet when she turned, her faceless lover morphed, changing into High General Shirou before her eyes. When she made to scream, his hands moved to her throat. "There shall be protection under the law," he said, though it was Kayaqtuk's voice she heard. Asami kicked him and somehow pushed away, off the bed. She never hit the ground; it opened before her, causing her to fall through darkness, down...down...until she spotted a glass floor rapidly approaching. It was then that the scream escaped her lips. She woke suddenly, soaked in sweat, the sound of the yell still echoing in her ears.

By the time she felt calm enough to sleep again, the sun was already making its appearance. Frustrated, she threw her covers off and made for the bathroom, deciding she’d rather have a cup of tea with the early risers on the island than risk missing her father’s trial.

She needn’t have worried. “Oh good, I was going to have Jinora wake you up,” Tenzin had said, once he and his eldest daughter whisked in from their morning meditation. “I want to leave a bit early in case it’s busy downtown.”

As it turned out, his idea of “a bit” meant that Asami was dropped off at her car a full hour before the trial was set to begin. She took her time driving to City Hall, worrying at the possibility of running back into Tenzin. _Eventually they’ll find out where I’ve been going_. She couldn’t help but feel guilty for hiding it; she owed him everything for even letting her live on Air Temple Island. It was made worse by the fact that he refused her offer to pay rent. If only they’d ask something of her. Anything. _I’m not lying to anyone_ , Asami told herself as she made a left turn, determined to take the most meandering route possible.

Despite her best efforts, she still arrived at the old Council room with forty minutes to spare. Reporters were already inside, unloading their notebooks and sharpening pencils. A few did a double take as she passed, but no one dared to approach her. She selected an aisle seat only a couple of rows back. Her father would have to turn almost completely around to see her from the defense table, but she would have an unobstructed view. _And a fast escape_.

Once sitting, Asami drew out the latest issue of the _Jasmine Street Business Journal_ from her handbag. A man with striking eyes was on its cover, with the headline, _“A Look Inside Varrick Global Industries.”_ She flipped open to a page at random, and to her irritation found a Cabbage Corp advertisement. On the next page was a feature about some sort of real estate mogul who had managed to turn a profit with previously worthless buildings that had been bombed by the Equalists.

Despite her best efforts, none of the words seemed to sink in. After she realized that she had read the second paragraph at least five times, Asami gave up and idly flipped the pages until the courtroom was nearly filled. The prosecution arrived first—High General Shirou and Lieutenant General Rosomi walked together, joking. Chieftain Amoqjuaq stalked in a few minutes after them, looking in a foul mood. The Earth Kingdom General Mayleen was the last to arrive. The other three barely took notice as she set her briefcase down onto the table.

The Council room filled up quickly after that. A wiry old man took the seat next to Asami, and immediately leaned forward on the table into her space. “You an Equalist?” he asked. She could smell the baijiu wafting off of his breath.

She tried to give a small smile. “No, no I’m not.”

“They should all hang!” he exclaimed, thumping his fist down.

Before Asami could respond, the door behind the empty judges’ table swung open. Two guards wearing United Forces uniforms stepped into the room. She felt her heart leap into her throat; behind them, walked her father. Kayaqtuk was beside him, muttering something in his ear. Hiroshi looked older than Asami remembered. _Good_ , she thought. _Let jail take its toll_.

As he neared, some instinct took hold of her; she dropped her eyes and turned away, only to find the old man’s face mere inches from hers. “Well?” he demanded.

“What?”

“Don’t you think they should hang?” His eyes were such a dark shade of brown that they almost appeared black.

“I—maybe,” she managed. She turned her head slightly to see if it was safe. Her father and Kayaqtuk were now seated at the defense table. If Hiroshi had noticed her, he certainly wasn’t giving any indication.

Another guard entered through the door in the back of the room. She stopped after a few steps, cleared her throat, and called, “All rise for the honorable judges of this tribunal: Professor Hengli, Colonel Jenifa, Commander Bumi, and Chief Justice Hotah.”

The murmuring in the room was replaced with the scraping of chairs as everyone rose. The four judges filed in. Asami was in plain view of Bumi, she knew, but she didn’t care. It was worth it for a closer look at her father. From her vantage point, she could just about read his expression from his profile. The one Hiroshi wore now was one she was familiar with; it was how he used to look before meeting with a big investor.

The judges sat, and Hotah banged his gavel. “Ladies and gentlemen, you may be seated.” He paused as the room obeyed. “This tribunal has convened for the second day, in the trial against the accused Equalist Hiroshi Sato. Let the record show that it is five minutes past ten. Defense, you may begin your opening statement.”

Kayaqtuk hopped up at that, adjusting the vest of his neatly pressed grey suit. He stood sideways, and when he spoke, moved his head back and forth between the judges’ table and the audience. “Thank you, your Honor. I want to reassure everyone that after yesterday’s theatrics, my opening statement will be brief. After all,” he paused, and when he spoke again, his tone was harsher, “verbosity is a poor substitute for facts, and an appeal to passion is an even worse substitute for the law.”

He began to pace. “It’s the law that’s the sticking point, as in any trial. High General Shirou was right to criticize how far the Equalist movement went yesterday; I think there are few here who would dispute that. Yet it was a movement in response to very real and pressing problems within this nation. Where was the legality when the brave citizens of the Earth Kingdom fought against their own subjugation during the Hundred Year War? What precedent had been established when Avatar Aang took away the bending of Fire Lord Ozai, and later the infamous crime boss Yakone?

“It is in our history that oppression is answered, and those who rise up receive no punishment. Yet we also know all too well that history is only written by the victors. My client picked the losing side; does this change the meaning of the law? Does this change the face of oppression?” Kayaqtuk stopped his pacing and scanned the audience. From her periphery, Asami saw a handful of reporters furiously scribbling notes.

“We shouldn’t hide from the truth; on our very streets there were gangs of benders extorting the people of this Republic...killing, even. There is a reason the Equalists gained popularity, and that was because there were threats to individual safety. Violence against nonbenders was quite nearly expected as a feature of living in this great city. Laws were broken by the Equalists, yes. But laws that cannot protect their people are no laws at all. This should not come as a surprise; outside the walls of this courtroom, our people are clamoring for change with this newly established election process. It is clear that the very fiber of the Republic, as it stands, is untenable.”

Kayaqtuk walked back towards Hiroshi, and rested a hand on the defense table. “I know it’s easier to view my client as the enemy. To pretend our social ills can be laid at his feet. But surely we can recognize that the situation is more complicated. Shaking our fists at the few successfully captured does not bring us any closer to justice.

“Neither does drawing arbitrary lines in the sand when it comes to culpability. Amon’s crimes are heinous, there is no denying. Whether his guiding motivations had basis in truth is irrelevant. But he is not the man who sits before us. Instead, we have my client, as well as a handful of chosen scapegoats who will be tried over the next few months. High General Shirou made a passionate argument for why ‘following orders’ cannot be a suitable defense. In doing so, he implies that every single person who participated in the Equalist movement is at fault. Yet only eighteen are being tried? Is this justice...or convenience?

"Further, who _should_ be tried? Everyone who donned an electrified glove? Everyone who attended Amon’s rallies? Can any of us truly wash our hands of involvement?”

Asami felt her stomach turn as she recalled the feeling of using the glove; the way her hand prickled just before delivering the punch, the shift in weight the moment the body in front of her went limp.

Kayaqtuk continued his pacing. “Need I remind you, also, that the Equalists were not the only ones following orders. Councilmen Tarrlok had the law on his side, didn’t he? Yet is there anyone who thinks that the way he utilized the metalbenders was fair? As I’ve said; laws that oppress must be able to be challenged, as they always have. Yet there’s no trial for former Chief Saikhan.

“Why is it that my client sits here, then? Because Amon escaped. Because Tarrlok is missing. Because we want someone to answer for the horrors that occurred. It’s easier when that happens. We can pretend the problem was solved. But manipulating the law...abusing the power of a temporary, ad hoc government? This is not the way to keep us safe. And this is certainly not anything resembling justice.”

With that, Kayaqtuk took his seat. For a good minute, nobody so much as stirred. Then Hotah spoke. “Prosecution, you may call your first witness.”

It was the Lieutenant General that rose. “We will call Hiroshi Sato to the stand,” she said in an even voice.

“That Water Tribe lawyer will get him off, the sneak,” the old man next to Asami mumbled. She wondered what would happen if she got up and ran from the room.

Her father was led forward to the witness box. He was wearing his nicest suit, though she noticed he had replaced his red tie with a gold one. The red had been a gift from her mother—one of the last gifts she ever gave.

The guard swore him in, and Hiroshi took his seat. Asami saw his eyes scanning the room; every time it felt like he might spot her, she lowered her own gaze. _Let him see you_ , she told herself. _Let him see that you’re not afraid_. But each time, her resolve faded.

Soon enough, his attention was forced to Rosomi, who approached where he sat. “Mr. Sato, could you kindly state your name and position to this court?”

He gave a forced smile. “Certainly. My name is Hiroshi Sato. I am the founder and former owner of Future Industries.”

“Former?” She sounded surprised.

“Following my arrest, I gave ownership of the company to my daughter, Asami.”

Asami kept her eyes glued to the table in front of her, but she could feel others looking. The taste of bile filled her mouth.

After what felt like an eternity, the prosecutor pressed on. “And your position among the Equalists?”

Hiroshi didn’t hesitate. “Following the advice of my counsel, I decline to answer.”

“Mr. Sato, there are countless eyewitnesses who can confirm that you gave a speech on behalf of the Equalist movement, where you proclaimed that bending had been made illegal, and would soon cease to exist. Do you deny this?”

“I said those words, yes.”

“To have been charged with giving such a speech must mean that you were of a high rank among the Equalists.”

“Objection,” Kayaqtuk said, rising halfway out of his chair. “Calls for speculation.”

“Your Honors,” Rosomi said, looking up at the judges. “Someone giving that speech is clearly in a position of authority and would have an understanding of ranks. It would not be speculation for Mr. Sato to answer.”

“You are speculating whether or not that is the case, Lieutenant General,” Kayaqtuk said a bit louder. “This is the definition of ‘speculation.’”

The judges exchanged a look with one another. “The objection is sustained,” Hotah said. “Please, continue with your next question.”

Rosomi cleared her throat. “Mr. Sato, in this speech, you said, and I quote, ‘Our great leader has a vision for the future. One day, soon, bending will no longer exist and we will live in a world where everyone is finally equal!’ Do you deny that you said these words?”

“I do not deny it,” Hiroshi said. His eyes were fixed on the prosecutor, and almost gleaming.

“You wished to live in a world with no bending?”

“Objection, immaterial.” Kayaqtuk didn’t bother to rise. “My client is on trial for his actions, not his feelings.”

Rosomi tried several more questions along the same lines, only to be shot down by another objection, or stopped with Hiroshi’s refusal to answer. After a good three-quarters of an hour, she switched tactics. “Mr. Sato, could you kindly explain what this is?” She walked an evidence box over to the witness stand.

“Certainly. That is an electrified glove,” he answered.

“Did you invent this?”

“I did, yes.”

“This was a weapon used by the Equalists. When Amon made his first public attack, he declared that thanks to modern technology—this technology—the ‘playing field’ was leveled, and anyone yielding it would have the ‘power of a chi blocker.’” Rosomi paused and looked towards the judges briefly, before turning back. “These gloves were never on the market. And in all of our investigations into Future Industries, there is no record of these being developed as one of your products. Did you design these weapons for the Equalists?”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Hiroshi said. A small smile appeared on his lips; the same smile that used to appear when he’d close a deal. “I began developing these gloves in 158. They are in my older design books, and I clearly tracked the logs. You must not have looked back that far.”

“I—” she began, flustered. “We... So you’re saying that you developed this technology over twelve years ago, and it just happened to fall into the hands of the Equalists?”

“I’m answering merely what you asked. As soon as my wife was killed by benders from the Agni-Kai Triad, I enrolled my daughter into self-defense classes. I couldn't bare to think of her having the same fate.” Asami felt as though the air was knocked out of her, though her father kept his eyes on Rosomi. “However, not everyone can afford that luxury. I wanted to develop technology that would give nonbenders a chance against anyone seeking to do them harm. If my wife had only had such technology...” Hiroshi’s voice broke, and he looked down for a minute. Yet when he looked back up to continue, his eyes were as hard as ever. “The glove took three years to develop, all of which is fully documented.” He glanced towards Kayaqtuk when he finished the answer, who responded with a nod.

Murmering broke out in the courtroom. “You see?” The old man said in loud whisper. “He has all the tricks.”

Unwillingly, Asami found herself agreeing. _Their entire strategy is to gain the sympathy of the public. And they’re using Mom to do it_. She felt a rage bubbling up inside her. She wanted nothing more than to stand and scream, or to run to her car, drive, and possibly never turn around. Instead, she curled her fist into a ball and forced herself to stay in her seat.

Rosomi clenched her jaw for a moment, before asking, “Then why did these gloves not appear until the Equalist attack? If this was indeed Future Industries property, why was it never one of your products?”

Hiroshi shrugged. “I’m afraid the answer to that is boring: there was too much market risk. The gloves are expensive to produce, and there was no guarantee that they’d ever be profitable. It was just business.”

“Then how is it that so many Equalists became armed with them?”

“On the advice of my counsel, I decline to answer.”

“Of course,” she said. “Well, perhaps you can answer this: based on your testimony, am I right in saying that you did not develop these weapons for the Equalists?”

“Correct,” he answered, though he looked less sure.

“Twelve years ago, when your wife was murdered, you were not in contact with the Equalists?”

“I was not.”

Rosomi leaned forward. “Yet at some point in these twelve years, these gloves, for which only you had the designs, and which were too expensive to produce for the public, fell into Equalist hands.”

“Objection, argumentative,” Kayaqtuk called.

“Your Honors, that was not my question to Mr. Sato.”

“Then state your question, Lieutenant General,” Colonal Jenifa said.

“Mr. Sato, you were clearly in contact with Amon based on his possession of these weapons, and the speech you gave on his behalf.”

“Your Honors,” Kayaqtuk said, incredulously.

“I believe she was getting to her question,” Hotah said. “Though your objection is noted.”

The lawyer threw a hand in the air in an exasperated gesture, but Rosomi continued. “When did you first come in contact with Amon?”

The corners of Hiroshi’s mouth twitched as his lawyer rose once more. “Objection, calls for speculation.”

“How?” High General Shirou rose from his seat at the prosecution’s table.

“I agree,” Jenifa said. “This is a straight-forward question. Can you clarify your objection, Kayaqtuk?”

“Of course.” The lawyer stood and smoothed his suit once again. “Amon always wore a mask, and was known for his anonymity. I don’t see how my client could be expected to know who he was truly talking to at any given moment. For all we know, there are multiple Amons.”

“Your Honors,” Shirou said, outraged, “this is ridiculous. There was only one Amon, and he was a bloodbender, as the Avatar showed us.”

“And how can you be certain of that?” Kayaqtuk shot back. “Even if we assume that there was only one bloodbender, how can any of us know who was behind the mask at any given moment? How is it fair to ask my client to identify, with a certainty, when he met this man?”

“Your Honors...” Rosomi said in a pleading voice, though she offered no argument.

Hotah whispered something to Jenifa, and both Bumi and Hengli nodded as well. The Water Tribe judge straightened in his chair. “The objection...is sustained.”

The reaction was instantaneous. Chatter broke out all around the room. Chieftain Amaqjuaq jumped out of his seat, Shirou began to stalk towards the judges’ table, and Rosomi looked to be arguing with Hotah. Even General Mayleen flipped through a book furiously. Kayaqtuk had a satisfied smile on his face, but he too walked towards the judges’ table, no doubt to counter anything said by the prosecution.

The old man grabbed Asami’s arm. “They’re all going to get off!”

She shrugged away from him, but he had a point; this meant that most testimony about Amon would be called into question. “No,” she said suddenly, shaking her head. “No, this doesn’t change what they’ve done.”

The old man began to say something else, but she didn’t hear it. She looked back towards the stand where her father was sitting. He was looking up at the judges’ table, watching the argument with mild interest. Then, without warning, he turned and met Asami’s gaze.

For a moment, it was as if the room stilled. Then all of her senses came rushing back at once. Everyone seemed to be yelling, and she felt as though there was a hand closing around her throat. Before she knew what she was doing, she had pushed herself out of her chair and fled the room.

She didn’t stop and think until she was in her car, pulling onto the road. _You shouldn’t have done that. He can’t think he has power over you_. Asami slammed her palm into the steering wheel four or five times, angry tears rolling down her cheeks. Her fingers were tingling when she pulled her hand away.

She stopped at a red light and looked at herself in the rear-view mirror, taking a breath. “Then prove that he doesn’t,” she said aloud. The light turned green, and for the first time in a long time, Asami drove with a destination in mind. Within twenty minutes, she had parked her car and walked through the doors of Future Industries.


	7. Raiko II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raiko gets some debate prep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Characters:  
> -Kushala, Raiko's campaign manager  
> -Rovrik the Chairman of the PNP, Raiko's political party  
> -Rong, an oil tycoon and founder of the PNP  
> -Shia, a PNP staffer
> 
> Candidates for the election & mock debaters:  
> -Titarri, Bending Heritage Party of the United Republic, played by Jakiw  
> -Xar, Labor Party, played by Koma  
> -Pundarik, Natural Law Party of the Republic, played by Mai  
> -Bahira, Harmony Party, played by Jian  
> -Niu, Bloc Pohuai, played by Kira  
> -Zaccor, Green Party, no debater assigned yet
> 
> * * *

 

> _One discerns in all the current discussion of Raiko and Xar a certain sour dismay. It seems to be quite impossible for any wholly literate human to pump up any genuine enthusiasm for either of them. Each, of course, is praised lavishly by the professionals of his own party, and compared to Titarri, Pundarik, and Bahira, by the surviving hacks of the party press; but in the middle ground, among people who care less for party success than for the national dignity, there is a gone feeling in the stomach, with shooting pains down the legs._
> 
> -Mongang, “The Republic City Sun”

 

“Titarri. As a firebender, and the daughter of a former councilman, what is your opinion of this ‘Fire Nation takeover’ many are worrying about?”

Jakiw shifted in his chair. “You know, there’s this mistaken belief that firebenders still identify with the Fire Nation, and I think that attitude factored into the rise of the Equalists in a way. It’s just another ‘us vs. them’ mentality, and that’s what people might be projecting onto the current situation. Fire Lord Izumi is here to help, along with the other wise world leaders. People are scared now, as they should be, but inventing new threats doesn’t keep us safe. Under my presidency, I would work to strengthen global relations, not fear them.”

Raiko didn’t hesitate. “What my opponent doesn’t understand is that threats to public safety often begin by looking like something a lot nicer. Take the—”

“No, no,” Kushala cut in. She rose from behind the desk centered in the large conference room of the First People’s National Party of the United Republic’s new headquarters. The other chairs in the room were arranged in a half-circle, angled towards her. Their occupants looked up at her words. “You can’t demean Titarri like that. It will come across as sexist.”

Raiko looked over to where Jakiw was sitting, stroking a thick mustache. “Clearly, I was responding to the content of his words.”

“Her words,” the campaign manager insisted. “The dynamic will look different during the debate. You were talking down to her, rather than phrasing it as, say, ‘I think it’s unfair to the people of the United Republic to claim that they’re just projecting. Threats to public safety often don’t begin’... And so on. You see the difference?”

He clenched his jaw. _This whole thing is ridiculous. How is this supposed to prepare me?_ It had only been a two days since it was announced that there was going to be a presidential debate held in the probending arena, yet Kushala had jumped on the news, claiming that Raiko needed to start getting ready right away.

“I am ready,” he had insisted. “I’m already the most qualified man in the race, and my ideas resonate with the people. Every day my polling numbers improve.”

A crease had appeared between Kushala’s eyebrows, but she at least had the grace to keep her thoughts to herself.

“Even so, a debate is a different atmosphere than a speech. We don’t know exactly what kinds of questions are going to be asked, and you’ll need to be ready to provide counterpoints on your feet.”

 _Counterpoints are the same as points, and it’s the ones in my speeches the people love_ , he had thought, though he kept silent. It did no good to deter Kushala once an idea popped in her head, and he didn’t want to deal with her nagging more than was absolutely necessary.

In this case, she had immediately assembled a team of debaters against whom Raiko could practice. She assigned a candidate to each individual, and instructed them to research everything they could, so that the practice sessions would be able to closely mirror the debate itself.

The new staff was knowledgeable, Raiko supposed, yet it was as if Kushala had assigned each of them the candidate most opposite to their natures. The young, alluring Titarri was being played by Jakiw, a man with a thick walrus yak mustache, who was nearly wider than he was tall. Pundarik of the troublesome Natural Law Party of the Republic had been assigned to Mai, a girl no older than twenty who wore distractingly short dresses. Yet the worst was Xar—Raiko’s main competition, and the man leading in most polls. To play the Labor Party candidate, Kushala had selected a short, old woman past sixty, with sour breath and several missing teeth. Koma’s brain seemed sharp enough, but she had the habit of articulating what she believed to be Xar’s points by waving her cane about her.

 _How Kushala managed to win anyone an election is nothing short of a miracle_ , he thought, glaring in her direction. Her hair was pulled into a messy braid today, and she wore a light grey vest with a matching tie. It was usual for the campaign manager to wear such an outfit, as if she was trying too hard to prove she was a professional. Raiko forced himself to give a small smile. “I think I've got it.”

He cleared his throat and tried again. “My opponent is right to praise the tireless work of Fire Lord Izumi along with the other world leaders, and I agree that the risk of a true ‘Fire Nation takeover’ is probably low. However, I do think it is insulting to the people of the Republic to claim that they are merely projecting. The Hundred Year War was not that long ago, and it began under the guise of ‘spreading prosperity.’ Threats to public safety are often quite nice looking in the beginning—we learned that with the Equalists. So the wish to keep a close eye on this delicate political situation and the tendency towards feeling anxious is, in my view, more than reasonable."

"Better,” Kushala said. “That might be a little long for a rebuttal, and we’ll need to work on the fear-mongering balance, but let’s move on.”

Raiko gritted his teeth. “You told me not to be too aggressive on this issue. That’s what I did.” To his right, he heard Bahira’s actor, Jian, give a small sigh.

His campaign manager’s mouth twisted. “In a way, you did,” she said, “but you just said that this was a ‘more than reasonable’ concern without any qualification. We want you to fear monger to an extent, because we feel that the people might look to you as a strong figure; like the father they never had who will always protect them. So you can’t seem too reactive.”

 _Oh you’re full of Daddy issues, aren’t you?_ “This isn’t my being reactive. The people have a point about that Fire Lord, especially with this ridiculous census that no one knows the true purpose of. Even the debate was her idea, no doubt to increase the electability of Titarri.”

“It was that airbender who announced it,” Jian said from Raiko’s left. He turned to glare at the man playing Bahira, the Harmony Party’s candidate. “That Tarrlok guy or whatever.”

“Tenzin,” Raiko said, annoyed. _Where did Kushala find these people_. “But he speaks with Izumi’s voice.”

“ _Fire Lord_ Izumi,” Kushala cautioned. “We can’t have any slip-ups with that. And this is a conversation for another time. Unless things change, there’s no evidence that this takeover issue is anything more than a conspiracy theory, mostly being used by the Labor and Harmony parties to earn votes.” She sat back down. “Your answer will have to be tempered, or else you risk losing the bender vote.”

Raiko frowned. “Titarri has the bender vote; she’s of the Bending Heritage Party, isn’t she? And it’s not the benders who will decide this election.”

“For now, for the first round.” She bit her lip. “They’re an important minority vote looking beyond the first election, though. Still, like I said, a conversation for another time. This is a debate practice and we can’t have the rhythm be interrupted like this.” _You’re the one who interrupted us in the first place_. She continued, “The next question is for Pundarik. What are your thoughts on the international military tribunal sitting in judgement of the Equalists, and as President, how would you have wanted to handle these trials?”

“Well,” Mai said, sitting up and extravagantly flipping hair out of her face, “it’s certainly understandable why former-Councilman Tenzin felt that bringing in the other world leaders to make this decision was the best course of action. However, in my view, this was an issue internal to the Republic, and the tribunal undermines our nation’s authority. I believe that the only appropriate course of action would have been to have the Avatar sit in judgement of these Equalists. She is our spiritual leader, and it is to her wisdom we must appeal, just as it was Avatar Aang’s wisdom that allowed this Republic to form.”

Jian jumped in before Raiko could open his mouth. “Pundarik was right to criticize the way this tribunal undermines our nation’s authority, but he forgets that the Avatar was part of the problem. The Equalists should stand trial, but Amon’s point about bender-worship was valid. As a bender of _all_ elements, Avatar Korra could not possibly be impartial. She was even a probender!” He paused and glanced towards Kushala. “Too much?”

“Bahira might have been even more aggressive,” she answered with a smile. She flicked her eyes towards Raiko, as if expecting him to say something.

It was Koma, instead, who jumped in. “The Avatar would have been a flawed judge thanks to her age, but there’s no need to equate her to the likes of Lightning Bolt Zolt. I just wish there had been more of an effort on the part of the world leaders to use nonbending judges and prosecutors. However, given that they are benders themselves...” she paused and thumped her cane. “As President, I would have put an emphasis on a more representative panel. I don’t see how a professor from the Earth Kingdom is qualified to judge these issues.”

“I believe—” Raiko began, but was cut across by Jakiw.

“Professor Hengli is qualified because he understands law. It’s true that the Equalists only organized and attacked within Republic City, but that doesn’t mean this issue has no bearing on the international community. And this idea that benders cannot sit in judgement because of the actions of a few individuals is dangerous, and can only further the tensions between the two groups.”

“We’ll have to move on,” Kushala said. “Raiko, if this question comes up in the debate, get in there before Xar so you can be the one to temper Pundarik’s stance, not him.” Raiko glared in Koma’s direction, but she seemed blissfully unaware of his gaze, instead picking up a cross stitch piece and needle from her lap, her cane leaning against the side of her chair.

“Also, Niu,” she continued, looking towards the chair on the far right, occupied by Kira, “you probably would have jumped all over this question, perhaps even before Bahira countered. The premise of Bloc Pohuai is that you’re unhappy with the governance of this nation, and the tribunal is one of the major reasons they cite as wanting freedom.”

Kira nodded. “Everyone’s just such a fine debater, it’s hard to get a word in edgewise.”

“Which is likely how it will go for Niu,” Kushala said. Both women exchanged smiles, and Kira let out a light laugh at the remark.

 _If they want to socialize, they can do it on their own time_ , Raiko thought irritably. “What’s the next question?”

“Well, since you’re eager, I’ll direct the next question to you,” his campaign manager answered serenely. “As President, what do you want your working relationship with the Avatar to be like?”

Raiko leaned back in his seat. It was a topic he and Kushala had never discussed, and one he hadn’t given much thought. _She’s seventeen; how much work would even be necessary between us?_ “I’ve always had a deep respect for the spirits, even as a nonbender. The balance between our two worlds remains as crucial as ever; not just balance in a superficial sense, of course, but in the true sense,” he said, balling a fist to emphasize his point. “Though Avatar Korra is young, she is also the sole possessor of thousands of years of great wisdom. And any man is wise to accept that wisdom, a lesson I learned a long time ago when I was starting out as a mere feature writer. The moment we think we know more than the man next to us is the moment we doom ourselves.” He lay a hand across his chest. “I never want to be in a position to say that I have all the answers, which is why I believe my relationship with the Avatar will be one of respect. Mutual respect if I have judged her character correctly, but—”

“This is getting long,” Kushala interrupted. “And don’t worry so much about your hand gestures. Most people are listening to this debate by radio; how you look is not nearly as important as how you sound, and this one got away from you.”

“It’s an immaterial question,” Raiko snapped. “The Avatar is still too young to be in a place to impact governance decisions, even if she did expose Amon.”

“That’s not something you want to say,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

“You think I don’t know that?” Everyone was looking in his direction, but he hardly cared. He was practically their boss.

Kushala took a breath and swallowed before speaking again. “This is beside the point. Short, firm statements play better on the radio. In person your...humility might come across well to a live audience, but when it’s just your voice..."

“You’re forgetting that the press will be at the arena. And they’re the ones who will be writing who ‘won’ the debate. They’re the ones I need to impress.”

“With all due respect, Sir, I believe your background may be causing you to place too much importance on the papers. People tend to read articles by the journalists who already agree with them. For every Mongang, there’s a Minoru; for every small-town rag there’s a glossy magazine.”

 _She thinks to educate me on this?_ “Well, I’m inclined to say that you place far too little importance on them.”

Kushala bit her lip once more. “Alright...” she said slowly, “but I think it’s reasonable to focus on keeping your answers—”

At that moment the door burst open, and Rovrik walked in. Though he was short and lean in stature, there was something about him that commanded attention. His eyes always seemed focused, and his soft voice, unwavering. It had been no shock to Raiko to learn that this was Rong’s choice for Chairman of the PNP; upon their meeting, he could tell that Rovrik was not someone to cross. He was half the reason Raiko agreed to be their candidate on the spot.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” he said. “Shia just phoned; there’s breaking news.”

Kushala rose as Rovrik approached her desk. Yet when he got there, he turned to face Raiko. _At least he knows who’s in charge_. “A man named Zaccor declared as a candidate for a party that just emerged: The Green Party.”

 _Another?_ This race was beginning to seem like more and more of a spectacle. “Will he be joining the debate?” Raiko asked, rising out of his chair himself.

Rovrik nodded. “It seems so.”

“With five days’ notice?”

“We were hardly given more for this debate anyway.” He looked towards Kushala. “Do you know of this Zaccor? Shia seemed to think you would.”

“Yes, Zaccor had been working on opposition research for the Labor Party. We crossed paths.” She leaned the heels of her hand on her desk, deep in thought. “The Green Party...this sounds like it must be an offshoot of the Labor. Perhaps a group that’s even more anti-industry? Or a group using the fear of Equalist technology to their advantage, but these guys are not any friends of the benders..."

She shook her head, as if confused. Rovrik reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “Does this encroach on our platform?”

Kushala turned to meet the Chairman’s gaze, but made no movement to shake him off. _So that’s how she got the job_. The thought amused Raiko, though he did his best to hide it as she answered. “No, no I don’t see how. If anything, this will make securing donors from business owners even easier, as they’ll now see two threats.” She jerked her head towards the other debaters, still sitting, but looking interested. “Everyone, would you mind giving us the room? Thank you for your help today, but we need a planning session here. If you could report back tomorrow, ten in the morning?”

It took only a minute or two the room to clear. To Raiko’s surprise, Koma was nearly the first one out the door, hardly bothering to use her cane. It was Kira and Mai that took the longest, making a show of donning their coats while they gossiped in barely hushed voices. When at last they had closed the door behind them, Rovrik folded his arms and turned to Kushala once more. “What do we know?”

“Zaccor’s definitely qualified, and sharp as anything. He was on-track to becoming an Associate Professor of Contemporary History before the election was announced, but he dropped everything to work on Xar’s campaign.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “He’ll be a fierce debater.”

“Good,” Raiko said. “It will be easier to play off of someone with actual ideas, especially if this means I can use him to frame my pro-business owner stance.”

Kushala furrowed her brow. “Well, depending on the question asked, I suppose. But it probably won’t matter. He’s going to need to set himself against Xar more than you, so he may actually be quite beneficial to us in the short-term.”

Rovrik nodded. “But what about the long-term? Can he beat Xar?”

“Didn’t you say his stances were more extreme?” Raiko asked.

“Maybe,” she answered. “It was my thought...I don’t see why else he would have declared now..." Her voice trailed off.

“Tell me, do we have anything to work with?” Rovik asked, dispassionately.

“Yes. Zaccor only fulfilled one year of the minimum two required for those who serve in the United Forces. And we may find more once we begin researching him.”

“That’s plenty,” Raiko said. “I served my full time; I could easily bring this up in the debate.”

Rovrik’s opened his mouth slightly, but it was Kushala who answered. “Don’t do that. We don’t want you to look petty. Besides, there’s a couple candidates who served beyond two years.”

“But if we have something to use—”

“Like I said, he seems like he’ll be more of a problem for Xar than for us.”

“If it comes to it,” Rovrik said, “we can always leak this to the press following the debate. In the event of a strong poll.”

 _As long as he ends up exposed_. “Very well,” Raiko answered.

The Chairman gave a thin smile. “Good. Kushala, I need to find you a Zaccor for tomorrow’s prep, don’t I?”

“Shia can provide you with a short list, I’m sure,” she answered.

“Excellent. I’ll let you two continue to plan then. Raiko,” he added, nodding.

“Always a pleasure.”

As Rovrik exited the room, Kushala pushed the papers on her desk into a neat pile. She always seemed to create a mess at every meeting. Raiko adjusted his glasses. “Well, you’ve sent our debaters home until tomorrow. Is there anything left for me to do?”

She glanced towards the door, as if to check whether Rovrik was still lingering, before meeting his gaze. “There’s something I need to talk to you about. Perhaps you’d like to pull up a chair?”

“I’m fine standing.”

“Of course,” she said, leaning her backside against the desk and crossing her arms. “With this field continually expanding...new parties declaring every day...there’s going to be increased scrutiny on every candidate. The PNP screened you, of course, but Rong’s resources and connections are different than others’. Our fact-finding missions are unique to our party.”

Raiko stiffened at her words. “What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything.” Kushala looked down and bit her lip. He was beginning to find the tick quite grating. She met his eyes once more. “I just need to know if you have any skeletons in your closet. You don’t have to be any Avatar Aang, but we do need to prepare if there’s something that could damage your reputation.”

Unbidden, he found himself thinking of Tala—her deep, brown eyes, the feel of her skin. _No. I set her aside for this, and she understood._ “There’s nothing.”

Kushala’s own brown eyes seemed skeptical. “Anything at all, Raiko. There’s no embarrassment; I just want to help you win.”

“Then help me win,” he answered, irritated. “I don’t need my integrity questioned, and I certainly don’t need to be told how to speak to a field of fools. I need you to do your job, and find out how to get them out of my way.”

“Well,” she said, her mouth giving an odd twitch, “I’m sure the people will have no trouble seeing the truth of that.”


	8. Tenzin III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family dinner talk is always political these days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Candidates for Presidency  
> -Titarri, Bending Heritage Party of the United Republic  
> -Xar, Labor Party  
> -Pundarik, Natural Law Party of the Republic  
> -Bahira, Harmony Party  
> -Niu, Bloc Pohuai  
> -Zaccor, Green Party

 

* * *

 

 

> _I do not envy Tenzin, nor the Fire Lord and the Chief of the Water Tribe. But neither do I envy any of the other individuals who make our Republic the greatest show since Capital City caved in. There is such a thing as sitting in the audience without getting stage-struck, as going to gemsbok bull fights without wanting to be either the fighter or the gemsbok bull. After all, it is the spectator who has the fun, not the clown. The clown has to daub himself with unpleasant paint, get into an absurd costume, and then expose his stern to the blows of the slapstick. Not infrequently, I daresay, they hurt._
> 
> -Mongang, “The Republic City Sun”

 

“But Dad, um, when is Rohan going to be big enough to...to... When will Rohan be big enough to learn, um, to try the gates?”

“What?” Tenzin quickly pulled his eyes from the cups was laying out to look down at his son, who was aimlessly knocking his hand against the table. “Meelo, we don’t even know if Rohan can airbend yet. And I asked you to go to the dormitories ten minutes ago.”

“But, um...if he’s not an airbender, so... Then he couldn’t do the gates?”

“No, obviously not, but—” He was interrupted by the door sliding open to reveal Korra, Jinora, and Asami, each carrying dishes from the kitchen in their arms.

“Would he have to move off the island?” the five-year-old insisted.

“Would who?” Jinora asked, walking over to the table and setting down a teapot.

“No one,” Tenzin said, pinching his eyes with his fingers. “Meelo, there’s no reason for you to be asking about this right now. You already had your dinner, and our guests are arriving soon. Go to your room. And fix the cushion you kicked.” From his periphery, he saw Korra and Asami exchange a look.

“But if he’s a nonbender, he can be a commander, like Uncle Bumi, right?”

“Don’t make me count to five.”

“Wait, we _know_ Rohan’s a nonbender now?” Jinora asked, a confused look on her face.

“No, we don’t! Where is your mother?”

“Pema went to take Ikki to the girls’ dormitory,” Asami offered. “I think she also said something about waiting outside for the Fire Lord.”

Tenzin looked around helplessly. “Is there an acolyte still in the kitchen who could take Meelo?”

She nodded. “Otaku was making himself a cup of tea. I’ll go get him.” She set down a pair of steamer baskets and turned to leave the room.

“But why did I have to have an early dinner, when Jinora doesn’t have to?” Meelo asked, pouting.

Korra laughed, but Jinora rolled her eyes. “You already met the Fire Lord when she came for lunch,” she said with exasperation only an eleven-year-old could muster.

“Yeah, even I didn’t do that, Meelo,” Korra said. Though her smile fell when she looked up at Tenzin. “She’s not mad that I wasn’t there, right?”

“Don’t be ridiculous; Izumi knows that you have many duties to take care of,” Tenzin assured her.

“Duties...right.”

Meelo stomped a foot. “But Jinora was at the lunch too and she gets to stay!”

At that moment Asami came back into the room, the bookish acolyte not far behind. “That’s because I trust Jinora to not be disruptive.” Tenzin answered. “Now please, Meelo, go with Otaku, or I _will_ start counting.” _Not that anything will happen if I reach‘five_.’

Meelo set his lip, but the acolyte held out a hand. “Come on Meelo,” he said cheerfully. “Let’s go do a breathing exercise, and then we can play Pai Sho before bed.”

“Two rounds?”

“How about three?”

“Finally someone who speaks my language!” He ran towards Otaku, the sudden movement overturning another cushion. Jinora sighed, and Asami crossed the room to fix it.

Korra scratched the back of her neck. “You know, Tenzin, if you wanted this to be a dinner for just the adults, I’d understand.”

“You _are_ an adult, Korra,” Jinora pointed out. “You even turned eighteen two weeks ago.”

Asami accidentally knocked a mug off the table, though Korra managed to cushion its fall with a blast of air. “Sorry,” she said, embarrassed. “I was just trying to set the plates.”

Korra gave a half shrug and turned back. “Right, well you know what I mean,” she said. “I just thought...if you wanted us out of your hair, uh, I mean if you didn’t want to be bothered...I could go to Mako and Bolin’s apartment, or something.”

 _Have I been making Korra feel unwelcome?_ Mako and Bolin hadn’t even been gone a month, yet Korra spent a fair amount of her time at their new downtown flat. _Does she think I want her to move out too?_ He certainly hadn’t been spending the time with her that he had intended, but with everything to take care of... “Nonsense, Korra. You are the Avatar, of course you have a place at this dinner.”

“Oh good. That is...great news,” she said, slowly.

“And that goes for you as well, Asami,” he said, turning towards her. “I’m sure Izumi will be fascinated to meet such a young business owner.”

She stiffened, her arm still extended with chopsticks in hand. “Uh, I...”

“Yeah, don’t worry Korra,” a voice from the doorway called. Tenzin turned to see his brother leaning against the frame, his arms folded. “If there’s anyone ‘Zumi’s going to think isn’t ‘adult’ enough to sit at this table, it’s going to be me.” Jinora and Korra laughed as he straightened up and sauntered towards them. “At least, she always used to tell me to ‘grow up,’ isn’t that right?” He clapped an arm around Tenzin’s shoulders. “But not this one.”

“That was years ago!”

His brother raised an eyebrow. “Oh right, I’m sure she’s developed quite the sense of humor since becoming Fire Lord.”

They all jumped as two figures appeared in the doorway, but it was only a pair of acolytes carrying more food. They paid the group no mind as they set down the trays. “Keep your voice down,” Tenzin cautioned. “That could have been Izumi and Lin!”

“Beifong’s coming?” Korra asked, casually stretching her arms behind her head.

 _I hope she remembers to bow for Izumi_. “Yes, of course she is. We all grew up together, as close as cousins. Well, Izumi and her father didn't live in the city, but still.”

“I’ve never really liked my cousins,” The Avatar admitted. Asami gave her a sideways look. “If you met them you’d understand. But it’s nice you were all close,” she added, glancing up at Tenzin again.

“Well, as much as we could be,” he answered. “Though Lin and I were quite a bit younger, and Su—”

“That didn’t matter!” Bumi said. “Dad _always_ let you sit at the adult’s table, what with your airbender responsibilities.”

“It’s hard to imagine Chief Beifong as a child,” Jinora said. “What was she like?”

“We shouldn’t be talking about this right now!” The last thing Tenzin needed was Lin to walk in and hear this, especially if Bumi was fool enough to mention the beginning of their relationship. _He was already in the Forces by then, at least; he wouldn’t know too many details_.

“You should ask her yourself at dinner,” Bumi said with a grin.

Jinora stared at her uncle, but she was spared the necessity of responding when the Fire Lord and Pema came through the doorway. “Izumi!” Tenzin exclaimed, straightening up. “Where’s Lin?”

“She’s tying up the airship,” his wife answered. “I offered to help her, but…” She threw up a hand.

“Lin was rather insistent,” Izumi said with a small smile. Her eyes scanned the room.

“Good to see ya, ‘Zumi!” Bumi said, grinning and bounding over towards her.

She hesitated, but lightly placed a hand on his forearm. “You as well. And Avatar Korra,” she said, turning.

Korra put her hands together and bowed. “It’s an honor to meet you,” she said.

“Please, the honor is mine. Though we actually have met already. I doubt you remember; it was about a year after the White Lotus discovered that you were the Avatar.”

“No, sorry,” she said. “I was told you visited once, but my early days at the compound all blend together. And they also wouldn't let me go to the Fire Nation to train my firebending like I wanted.”

“Yes, your father…” Izumi let her voice trail off. “It makes no difference. I’m glad we were able to find the time now. Jinora,” she said, turning her attention to Tenzin’s daughter. “It’s lovely to see you again.”

“You too, Fire Lord—”

“I told you, call me ‘Aunt Izumi,’” she corrected warmly. Jinora gave a bashful smile. Izumi turned towards the last person in the room, her face suddenly solemn once more. “And you must be Miss Sato.”

“Please...‘Asami’ is fine,” she said, bowing low. “It’s such an honor.”

“Yes, well—”

“There’s Lin!” Bumi interrupted.

Everyone turned towards the doorway to see the police chief entering the room. She scanned their faces. “Tell me we’re at least done with the formalities here.”

“Why yes,” Tenzin said, deciding it was best not to upset her. “We were just about to sit down.”

“Chief Beifong,” Korra called, as the group shuffled toward the table. “It’s good to see you again.”

Lin grunted, but said nothing in return. Tenzin slid onto a cushion along a narrow end of the table, Pema next to him, while Izumi positioned herself at the other head. “I must apologize for my son’s absence,” she said, adjusting her robes. “His duties are quite demanding.”

With Lin’s security force increasing, and the disruption caused by the Equalists dwindling each day, Tenzin was unsure what duties she was referring to, but he supposed the election was more than enough to keep the Forces’ hands full. “That’s too bad,” Korra said from in-between Jinora and Asami. “I would have liked to see Iroh again.”

“That’s right, you fought with him. And even saved his life, from what I’m told?” The Fire Lord calmly picked up a teapot and helped herself.

“Too bad my squad had been ordered to stay behind, or we could have _all_ given those Equalists the ol’ one-two,” Bumi said, leaning across Lin. She turned to glare at him.

“Uh...” Korra seemed unsure whether to ignore him. “Yeah, I kind of saved him, I guess. But it was Asami who went with him to take out the Equalist aircrafts. And our friend Bolin.”

Asami, who had been serving herself dumplings, froze. “Oh, I—” She looked towards Izumi. “Yes, your son is quite heroic. I don’t know what we would have done without him.”

Her mouth twitched. “I suppose he is.”

Jinora looked up. “If not for him, Uncle Bumi’s reinforcements would have never made it through.”

“Well you just haven’t seen what kind of commander I am,” he said, winking.

“Bumi—” Tenzin began, exasperated, but he was cut off.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lin said. “They bombed the entire city.”

“It was all over until Korra,” Pema said, nodding in her direction.

A small smile crossed her face. “I had help from Mako. But knocking Amon out of that building with airbending felt pretty good.”

“Yes,” Izumi said, “how is your airbending training going now?”

Korra gave a small shrug as she picked up a sweetroll. “It’s intense. It feels like I’m training all day, but I’m getting decent.”

“There’s still the spiritual side to focus on, remember,” Tenzin said. _As if I should speak_.

“I meditate all the time,” she protested.

“Daily meditation is necessary for any airbender. Just ask Jinora.”

“Dad...” she said irritably.

“I’m just saying, maybe I’d be able to focus better if I went downtown more,” Korra said, holding her arms out in front of her, “you know...if I could be where the action is.”

“The election, you mean,” Pema said. “When I was there today, it’s all anyone was talking about. At least ten different people approached me, trying to get me to join one party or another.”

Izumi nodded. “Well that’s natural; especially given that the presidential debate was only two days ago.”

 _Yes, along with the announcement of the Assembly_. It was hard for Tenzin not to still feel bitter. Initially, he, Izumi, and Unalaq had agreed not to go public with their plan until the census had been fully conducted. “If it seems as though we do not have the details worked out,” Izumi had said, “then no one will place any confidence in the system. We can’t afford to lose the people’s support of this new government.”

Tenzin had agreed. Izumi’s troops were efficient, but it would take a few good weeks for the census to be completed, and some time after that for the results to be analyzed and the provinces to be determined. It meant the people not knowing the purpose of the census until after its completion, but faith in the Assembly would be more important. Even Unalaq had agreed to that point.

Yet at their meeting the day before the debate, Izumi had changed her song. “I’ve set time to speak with Shiro Shinobi this afternoon. I’m going to ask him to incorporate our plans for the Assembly into a question to the candidates tomorrow,” she had said simply, as soon as she arrived. Tenzin had looked around in alarm, but Unalaq seemed as disinterested as ever. General Guo hadn’t even bothered to show up.

“Why would we do that? The census is at least a week from completion.”

“Have you been reading the papers?” Izumi had asked, taking her seat. “Every other day there’s a headline about a supposed ‘Fire Nation takeover.’ Can you imagine how it would appear if we waited until after the debate to make this announcement? People would see it as us trying to grab more power because of our dissatisfaction over the candidates.”

“But what about people losing faith in the government? We don’t have the plans finalized.” Tenzin had looked to Unalaq as he spoke, but the Chief of the Water Tribe only had offered a dramatic yawn in response.

“Even without the census completed, we know that there will be around ten provinces, and that those will be subdivided into wards,” Izumi had answered. “We also have rather detailed plans for the organization and function of this Assembly.” She gave an impatient wave of her hand. “I will tell Shiro to explain that the census is being conducted so that elections for a lawmaking branch of government will take place, and then ask the candidates how they would approach a working relationship with this legislature. We can later speak to the specifics of our plans for the High Council and the Council of Delegates in a press conference.”

“If we’ll have to be the ones answering questions about it, then shouldn’t we announce it in the first place?” Tenzin had asked. “It won’t look like more of a power grab to control the questions of the debate?”

“It will be one question. I think it will ease anxiety for the citizens of the Republic to be first introduced to the idea by Shiro. Most will be listening to the debate on their radio at home, after all. This is a voice they know and trust.”

“But why at the debates? This seems unfair to spring on the candidates.”

Unalaq had smirked at that. “The President of the United Republic should be able to think on his toes, wouldn’t you say, Tenzin?”

Izumi had nodded. “How they answer may set the entire tone of the election,” she pointed out.

“You agree with this?” Tenzin had asked Unalaq.

“Oh I believe the Fire Lord is being incredibly wise,” he had answered, yet there was something in his voice that made the hair on the back of Tenzin’s neck stand up. Still, he had known it was a lost cause then. Even if they waited for General Gao, the old man would offer no opinion of his own.

In the end, half of the candidates didn’t seem to remember how to form a coherent sentence when Shiro raised the question. _Perhaps we should be weeding people like this out_ , Tenzin had thought. Overall, the press seemed to have taken positively to the news; the idea of checks in the President’s power was a popular one.

As he predicted, reporters dogged Tenzin the following day asking for details, but Izumi had argued that they should wait at least three before giving a “clarifying” press conference—one she would not be attending. It would be up to Tenzin and Lin to address the city, though Izumi had promised that her son would be standing behind them to offer support. “Silently,” she had insisted. “But first, let the papers give the debate the proper attention it deserves.”

Looking at Izumi now, calmly sipping her tea, Tenzin could only feel envious. She would not be the one dealing with the accusatory questions and the continual camera flashes in two days’ time. He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, certainly more people seem interested in the election now than ever.”

“It’s because it was held in the probending stadium,” Lin answered. “Makes it seem like a spectator sport.”

Bumi grinned. “Yeah, won’t be long before the triads begin taking bets, I’m sure.”

Lin gave him a sour look, but it was Jinora who answered. “I don’t think so, Uncle Bumi; the field is too small. Or, at least, the papers only write about the same three candidates. The ‘front-runners,’ they call them.”

“Reporters follow the polls,” Izumi said nodding. “They want to sell their papers, so they write about the candidates who have the most support.”

“Well actually,” Asami said quietly, “did you read the _Times_ today?”

The Fire Lord fixed her eyes on the girl. “Not thoroughly, I’m afraid. Your town has many papers to keep track of, and I often can only examine the front pages.”

“Oh, uh, well there was another poll, and..." she looked nervously from one end of the table to the other, “Tenzin was the winner.”

On her left, Korra began laughing. “Tenzin? Really?”

“What? Why was I even included?” he asked, heat rushing to his face. _I already have too many reporters following me around_.

“I—I’m not sure. It wasn’t about the debate specifically; it was just asking who people wanted to win the election,” Asami said.

Pema put a comforting hand on his back. “I’m sure people naturally look up to you; you’re Aang’s son, after all,” she said.

“Still, perhaps we can find a way to disabuse people of the notion that you might become a candidate at the press conference the day after tomorrow. Mention that the field is closed,” Izumi suggested.

“Aw, come on! ‘President Tenzin’ sounds good, doesn’t it?” Bumi said through giggles. “Though he’ll always be ‘Turnip Tenzin’ to me.”

“Bumi!” Tenzin snapped at his brother. Korra was laughing harder now, Asami joining her, and he could tell Pema was trying to suppress a snigger of her own.

“Why a turnip?” Jinora asked Bumi.

“Well because when he gets upset, the top of his head turns purple. Like it’s doing now!” he explained. Even Lin looked amused.

Korra managed to stop laughing long enough to ask, “When did you come up with that?”

Bumi smirked. “Oh, I think ‘Zumi and I thought of it not long after he started shaving his head.”

The Fire Lord pursed her lips. “I had nothing to do with it, Bumi. It was all you and Kya.” She turned to her left. “Tell me, Asami, did the _Republic City Times_ happen to mention anything about the Assembly? I didn’t see anything on its front page.” The laughter died away at the question.

Asami nearly upended a bowl of soy sauce in her surprise at being addressed. “Uh, no, not really. Well I mean, yesterday’s papers covered the candidates’ reactions to it pretty thoroughly, but it seems like everyone’s waiting for the scheduled press conference in hopes that it will answer their questions.” She glanced to her other side, but Korra seemed to be focused on eating her dinner as fast as possible. Asami shook her head slightly and continued. “There was a short article speculating on how it will work when the Assembly writes a law that the President doesn’t like, and another saying that Zaccor is the best candidate to work with such a system because of his background, but that was all.”

“That is a good question,” Tenzin said, happy for the change in subject. “I can be sure to discuss the veto system.”

Izumi nodded in approval. “Yes, that won’t be a problem. And I’m glad that Zaccor is getting some attention despite how late he joined. He’s well-qualified.”

“That’s true,” Pema agreed, “and he was definitely one of the smartest candidates up there. You could tell in his answer about the Fire Nation reparations.”

“He got a lot of applause for that one,” Jinora said.

“I know _I_ nearly cried,” Bumi said dryly, smirking in Korra’s direction. The Avatar struggled not to smile. From his periphery, Tenzin saw Lin roll her eyes.

“But they’re using his military record against him,” Asami objected. “And his party... I think the environment is too narrow of a focus. Plus getting business owners on his side will be a challenge, because—” She stopped herself, as if only just aware that she had been speaking out loud. “I—I mean, he’s also already being perceived as too soft on crime.”

“Yes, that newspaper owner, Raiko, certainly spent some time arguing that,” Tenzin agreed.

“As if he knows anything about security,” Lin said irritably. “He was just fear mongering without offering any solutions. At least the polls consistently have him below Xar. If he wins, my work will be cut out for me.”

“Well, you may not have to worry. Xar’s numbers have remained strong, and his stances are quite balanced compared to most of the candidates,” Izumi pointed out.

Tenzin nodded. “Yes, though compared to Titarri and Zaccor’s backgrounds, he doesn’t seem as qualified.”

“Oh!” Korra suddenly exclaimed, “I liked Titarri!”

“A bender won’t win,” Lin said.

“But that’s ridiculous! She seems good for the job.”

“Lin’s right, Korra,” Tenzin answered. “The Bending Heritage Party is not going to be able to gain traction, at least not enough to challenge Xar right now. Though I do wonder if the Labor Party will have trouble of their own finding corporate sponsors. What do you think, Asami?” Too often he forgot that the teenager living under his roof was also the owner of one of the world’s largest technology companies.

“Oh, well…” She awkwardly pushed her steamed vegetables around on her plate. “His ideas for the minimum wage and corporate tax are a bit more expensive, though they’d likely lead to a stronger economy, so it balances out. At least, that’s what my CFO tells me.”

“Does he have your vote then?” Pema asked kindly.

Asami looked down. “I’m not sure. Sometimes he—the way he talks about the...the Equalists makes me uncomfortable.”

The table fell silent. After a moment Korra, whose mouth had been full with a dumpling, forced herself to swallow and asked, “What do you mean?”

“He just...he hid behind candidates like Bahira, the ones who spout out Amon’s talking points. Then Xar would come in and take a seemingly balanced stance, but if you listen to what he actually said, it sounds as though he wants the Equalists to be acquitted.” She scanned the table, but no one spoke. “It’s frustrating. He’ll never say anything against benders specifically, but then he implies that the trials aren’t fair because they’re part of the process. That’s exactly how Amon thought.”

“Hey!” Bumi said, with such vigor that Jinora jumped. “That also sounds like what your dad’s lawyer argues in court, doesn’t it?” Asami’s eyes widened.

“Bumi!” Izumi snapped, sounding rather horrified.

“What?”

“As a judge, you shouldn’t be discussing this.”

“Oh, lighten up; I can’t say what I _heard_ in court now? They're open to the public, you know.”

“I hardly think it’s appropriate,” she said, flicking her eyes towards Asami.

“This isn’t anything she doesn’t know,” Bumi said defensively. “She’s been to court every day, haven’t you, Asami?”

Tenzin couldn't believe his ears. “Is this true? Asami, you’ve been going to your father’s trial?” _How could I have not known?_

“I...I just..." she stammered, her voice breaking. “I own the company now, of course I need to go. The reputational risk..." She trailed off.

Korra gave her friend a quizzical look, but it was Izumi who spoke. “That must be a lot to manage, I'm sure,” she said.

“It is,” Asami answered in a small voice. “In fact, I have a financial meeting in two days that I very much need to prepare for; may I be excused? Dinner was lovely, thank you.”

She was already rising when Tenzin answered, “Yes, yes of course.”

Once standing, she gave a bow to the Fire Lord. “Again, it was an honor to meet you.”

“Thank you, Asami,” Izumi said.

At that, she fled from the room.

Korra looked towards the door. “That reminds me, I promised uh—Bolin that I would spar with him. Tonight. You know, to work on my airbending.”

“This late at night?” Tenzin asked incredulously.

“Well you know Bolin..." She turned towards Izumi. “He’s a top-notch earthbender. Just ask Iroh!”

She smiled wanly. “He sounds like the perfect sparring partner then.”

“Well...alright then, I suppose,” Tenzin said, unable to think of a reason why she shouldn’t. _I’m sure this won’t be the last she sees of Izumi_. “Do you want to take Oogi?”

“No no, I’ll just use my glider.” She climbed out of the table and gave a small bow. “Uh, Fire Lord Izumi, it was a pleasure.”

“The pleasure was mine, Korra.” The Avatar left the room at an even faster pace than her friend.

“Dad, should I leave too?” Jinora asked, suddenly seeming uncomfortable.

“You certainly don’t have to,” he answered.

She squirmed in her seat. “I don’t know..."

“Jinora,” Pema said suddenly, “would you prefer to take your dessert in your room?” Their daughter nodded. Pema turned towards Tenzin, “I’ll take her; I want to check on Asami anyway. She seemed upset."

“Thank you,” he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“See you tomorrow, kiddo,” Bumi called to his niece.

“Goodnight Uncle Bumi...Chief Beifong...um, Aunt Izumi,” she said, blushing.

“I’ll be back,” Pema said, leading Jinora out of the room.

Once they had left, Lin let out a small groan. “Well, that was eventful, wasn’t it.”

“I thought you knew she was going to the trials,” Bumi said defensively, looking at Tenzin.

“Of course not. Asami should not be putting herself through that.”

“Why not? She’s an adult!”

“Bumi, think about it,” he snapped. “Can you imagine if Dad had needed to stand trial for something like this?”

“If he had, I’d have wanted to know the details.”

“It’s irrelevant.” Izumi said simply. “Bumi’s right; Asami is old enough to be making this decision on her own. But she should not be staying here with you. At least not while the trials are taking place.”

Her words didn't make sense. “Why?”

“Because her father is a top-ranking Equalist.”

Tenzin shook his head. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. From you of all people. Look at who your grandfather was. And yet that didn’t stop Dad from accepting _your_ father’s help.”

Izumi’s face hardened. “Tenzin, it’s quite obvious that Asami is no Equalist, and I have never suggested otherwise. But you must realize how this looks to the public. That you’d take in someone so intimately connected.”

“I thought your concern was that as an airbender, I’d seem too anti-Equalist. Now you’re saying I’m too pro?” He could feel his anger rising. From his periphery, he saw Bumi shrinking in his seat. “Amon had my children in chains, Izumi.”

She took a breath, and when she spoke again, her voice was gentler. “Tenzin, I’m on your side, you know that. What people are worried about is us having too much power—us as in you and me, specifically. That our fingers are in too many pots. Your brother is already a judge,” she said gesturing towards Bumi. “It doesn’t take much for this press to run with a story. The last thing we need is a piece about how your guests are influencing the process. We can't have any doubt cast on these trials.”

 _You weren’t on my side with the announcement about the Assembly_ , he thought, though he kept it to himself. “I won’t turn her out because of sensationalist reporters,” he insisted.

“She owns a company, Tenzin. It’s not as if she’d be living on the streets,” Izumi pointed out. “But if that’s how you feel, then I won’t spend my time trying to persuade you otherwise.”

“I suppose you could always try to persuade Unalaq instead," he said before he could stop himself. Lin looked up in surprise, and Bumi let his chopsticks fall out of his hands.

The Fire Lord’s mouth tightened. “This isn’t about Asami Sato.”

“I don’t like that you went behind my back to get him to agree to the announcement of the Assembly.”

“I did no such thing. We were talking, and it came up, much like our own conversation about the idea of the Assembly in the first place.”

 _The conversation where you told me you’d 'handle' Unalaq, and not to worry_. “I just..." Tenzin sighed. “I don’t like how fast everything is moving.”

“It has to move quickly; if we want this Assembly, then it needs to be established in the same election as the presidency. And we couldn’t wait on that, because the United Republic Council fell apart.”

“We’ve been managing alright during this time.”

Izumi’s eyes narrowed. “Yet every day I’m reading about my supposed grand scheme to reclaim the Republic for the Fire Nation. It's unclear at best whether this provisional council is even legal. Unalaq and I cannot govern this city with you indefinitely. We must move forward.”

He could hardly object to that. “It just...it doesn’t feel right sometimes. I wish our parents were here. They’d have known what to do.”

“Yeah, they’re real role models,” Lin grumbled.

Izumi clasped her hands on the table in front of her. “Tenzin, at a certain point we must stop concerning ourselves with what our parents would think. I could send for my father right now, but what would it accomplish? We are here; we’re the ones seeing the demands of the people, much as they were during their time. We must trust in that.”

“Yeah Tenzin,” Bumi called. “Dad didn’t always have the answers!”

 _He would have for this_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5/31/2017:
> 
> I've been going back and editing some sentence-level stuff, so figured a few notes for clarity might be fun. A big thing I was trying to do in this fic, hopefully successfully, is to have Tenzin and Asami's arcs be somewhat paralleling each other; they're both flailing here. Asami is definitely more in crisis-mode, but Tenzin is all about his father's legacy and anxiety of how to move forward. They're trying to rebuild something that's over their heads, to various effects. What makes it tragic, though, is that they find themselves unable to actually offer support. Asami exists around Tenzin's orbit, but he's unaware of very basic facts about what she's been up to. I think placing them at the table together is one of the best ways to let that shine. They both have such strong opinions on politics and are both reflective, deep thinkers, but they can't offer each other a mutual platform usually, so it makes what comes out of their mouths a bit of a mystery to one another. 
> 
> I have a penchant for meal scenes, of course. Just make everyone talk and let things play off of each other. I think it makes sense that Izumi would be the one directing the conversation most, and she's got her own hang-ups, which I love.


	9. Asami III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asami faces an important meeting for her company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **The Tribunal**  
>  Judges:  
> -Hotah (NWT)  
> -Professor Hengli (EK)  
> -Bumi (UR)  
> -Colonel Jenifa (FN)  
> Chief Prosecutors:  
> -Chieftain Amaqjuaq (SWT)  
> -Lieutenant General Rosomi (UR)  
> -General Mayleen, replaced by Governor Aiguo (EK)  
> -High General Shirou (FN)  
>  **Candidates for Presidency**  
>  -Titarri, Bending Heritage Party of the United Republic  
> -Xar, Labor Party  
> -Raiko, First People’s National Party of the United Republic  
> -Pundarik, Natural Law Party of the Republic  
> -Bahira, Harmony Party  
> -Niu, Bloc Pohuai  
> -Zaccor, Green Party
> 
> * * *

> _Perhaps the political impotence of labor is due largely to the fact that the Republican workingman, like every other United Republican, has ambitions, and is thus disinclined to think of himself as a workingman. In other words, he refuses to be class conscious. What he usually hopes is that on some near tomorrow, he will be able to escape from work and go into business for himself, and so begin oppressing his late colleagues._
> 
> _-_ Mongang, Republic City Sun

 

Asami’s eyes flicked to the clock on the back wall just as the minute hand struck the three. _You need to leave_ , she told herself. _Your meeting is in forty-five minutes and you have to prepare_. Yet she did not budge from her chair, instead focusing her attention back on the witness stand.

At it sat an elderly woman, who for the past twenty minutes had either declined to answer the prosecutor’s questions, or denied all allegations. Chieftain Amaqjuaq was getting frustrated, Asami could tell, but it was the prosecutors sitting down that she had learned to watch closely. Lieutenant General Rosomi of the United Forces was scribbling something frantically on a piece of paper, while High General Shirou whispered in her ear. The Earth Kingdom’s new prosecutor, Governor Aiguo sat with his hands resting on his chin. There had been no explanation given for General Mayleen’s abrupt departure, but it was hard to argue that her alternate judge was a worse fit. He at least managed to look awake during the proceedings.

Amaqjuaq glanced back at the prosecutor's table in time to see Rosomi pushing her note towards the edge. He gave a small, dismissive wave of his hand before turning back towards the witness stand once more. It was difficult for Asami not to smile. The Tribunal lawyers had not made the best first impression at her deposition, yet since the trials began a month ago, it was the way they behaved in court that gave her more pause. Though there was truth to every word they spoke, their tactics too often seemed underhanded. And as much as Asami was loathe to admit it, Kayaqtuk’s remark about “arbitrary lines in the sand” for culpability seemed to ring truer and truer. When it had only been her father on trial for the first few days, that was one thing, but now that his was interspersed with the others...

She studied the old woman’s face. She looked so frail, so careworn. Every time the chieftain approached her with his towering frame, Asami would feel her own stomach clench. _People are not always what they seem_ , she reminded herself. Her father had taught her the truth of that. _And the Equalists must be punished, however unpleasant the process is_. She tried to picture Jinora, Ikki, and Meelo gagged and chained on a stage, as Mako had described to her. Suddenly, the defendant didn’t look quite so delicate.

“...but how I could be expected to know the specifics of the Equalists methods is beyond me,” she had just concluded saying. Asami shook her head, trying to focus, despite the nagging feeling in her gut. _I can stay for another five minutes_.

Amoqjuaq leaned an elbow against the edge of the witness stand. “Are you saying that you did not know this so-called ‘purification’ of benders was being carried out on an enormous scale? That many of these victims were held in captivity by the Equalists?”

“I knew nothing of that.”

“Ah, very interesting,” he said, rising and walking towards the prosecution's table. When he reached it, he turned sideways, so that he could talk as much to the audience as the witness. He fixed her with a smile that looked more like a grimace. “Then perhaps you could explain, Hope, why it is we have a map that reveals several entry points to the Equalist’s underground base, all of which are located beneath properties that you own?” The courtroom gasped, as Amoqjuaq dramatically unrolled a coil of paper on a stand that sat to the right of the table. Asami saw Judge Hengli cover his mouth as the chieftain raised his voice over the growing clamor and continued, “See this tunnel here? Your fellow Equalist Chyou confirmed the police force was transported to their cells through it, and the only way there is through the parking lot of your grocery.”

Judge Hotah’s gavel and voice joined the mix. “Order, there will be order.”

“Objection, your Honors!” Hope’s lawyer, Euna, was now on her feet. “Not in evidence!”

Rosomi rose as well. “It was filed this morning.”

“I was not informed.”

“There will be order in this court!”

Bumi’s voice suddenly rang out above all the others. “Will the counsels please approach the bench?” The room quieted a bit as the Amoqjuaq and Euna stepped forward, though Asami still heard frantic whispers around her. _I really have to leave_ , she told herself. Still, she could not bring herself to rise.

Luckily, her lack of self-control hardly mattered. Within a couple of minutes, Hotah announced the court would take a two-hour recess to allow the defense the examination of the map. The judges rose and exited to their chambers in the back of the room, and soon the air was filled with the sound of scraping chairs as everyone made to leave as well.

“There’s still plausible deniability for her,” Asami heard a man say behind her as she followed the crowd out the double doors into the foyer of City Hall.

“Yes,” a woman’s voice answered. “That Sato’s lawyer made that space, and it looks like the rest of the defense council is charging through.” Asami’s throat suddenly went dry at that, so she broke away from the crowd and headed towards the drinking fountain situated in between two marble benches.

The water was room temperature and had a metallic aftertaste, which only served to make her feel ill. She was about to make her exit when a voice stopped her. “Asami?”

She turned to see Korra coming towards her out of the stairwell to the second floor. “Oh, hi!” she answered, her voice louder than she had intended. “What are you doing here?”

The Avatar sighed. “Tenzin’s press conference. It’s going a lot longer than he expected.”

“That wasn’t held outside?” Asami asked, suddenly feeling guilty. _If I’m not careful, I’ll miss the election too, sitting in these damn trials_.

“His speech was earlier. For the past two hours it’s been a closed question-and-answer session with the press.”

“Well, how lucky for you that you’re one of the few allowed to attend.” She had meant it playfully, but the words almost sounded rude once she heard them.

To her relief, Korra laughed. “It was fine for the first hour, maybe, but they’re not even showing any signs of ending.”

“So you reached your limit?”

She gave a noncommittal shrug. “I guess. The only reason I stayed as long as I did is because Tenzin was supposed to be my ride home. We took Oogi this morning, so I don’t even have my staff. But at this point I could have walked to the docks twice; I figure I’ll just do that.”

“I can give you a ride there.” The offer was out of her mouth before Asami could stop herself. “I mean, I’m heading that way.” In truth, her meeting at the bank was in the complete opposite direction, and she was already cutting it closer than she had planned, but it was as though some compulsion was talking for her.

“Uh, sure,” Korra said. “Thanks, Asami! You’re finished with what you had to do here?” As if in answer, Asami’s eyes flicked to the old council room where a few stragglers still trickled out the door. Korra seemed to follow her gaze. “Oh...right.”

“We can head out now,” Asami said, trying to ignore the sudden awkwardness.

Korra gave a nod, and the two of them started towards the door. Judge Hotah and Judge Hengli were both exiting the courtroom as they neared it. Asami had never seen them outside their chamber during a recess, but she supposed this one was more for the defense’s benefit. _Bumi will be pleased he gets an actual break_.

“Well, thanks again,” Korra said, an easy smile on her face. Asami felt her stomach give an odd flutter. “I would have just walked to Bolin’s, but I think he told me last night that he would be in the gym all day. And Mako’s got his own training, of course.”

“Oh, you... Nevermind.” When Asami had briefly seen Bolin yesterday, he mentioned that his brother and Korra had fought the night before. Even so, it was natural enough that it would have blown over already; when the boys were still living on the island, there would often be a meal during which Mako and Korra wouldn’t talk to each other, but it always seemed to resolve itself quickly.

“Yeah, I’m starting to feel guilty about leaving the Ferrets,” the Avatar continued, oblivious, as they stepped into the sunlight. “But with the training schedule Tenzin has me on now that I actually can airbend...there’s just no time. You’d think he’s punishing me for it!”

Asami gestured around the side of the building where she had parked, and they continued on, still only a few feet behind the pair of judges. “That’s frustrating,” she agreed. “I suppose Mako won’t have time for probending now either.”

“No, he’ll be an official cop any day.”

 _And Future Industries probably won’t be able to sponsor the team anymore_ , she thought darkly. “At least Bolin’s lucky that the elections are pushing the season—” Asami cut herself off, suddenly distracted by Hotah unlocking a parked car.

“What is it?” Korra asked, looking around in confusion.

“No, it’s nothing, just... That’s the Tribunal judge from the Water Tribe.”

“Okay...” she replied slowly, a crease forming between her eyebrows.

Asami sighed. “It’s stupid. It’s—he’s driving a Cabbage Car, that’s all.”

Korra considered the taupe vehicle Hengli was now climbing into on the passenger’s side. Hotah was already seated behind the wheel. “Maybe it’s a rental?”

“No, he had to have known this would be an extended visit.”  She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter; come on, I’m not far from here.”

“You sure? You seem kind of upset.”

“That was a new model,” Asami explained as they walked. “Satomobiles are better quality than Cabbage Cars, and at this point, less expensive. It’s one thing for people in Republic City to not want them, but if I can’t even sell to someone from the Northern Water Tribe..."

“Oh, is uh—business not going well?” Korra asked awkwardly. “I mean, I guess I never really thought about it, but it would make sense that people are wary.”

“There I am.” Asami pointed to her own car. The two girls climbed into the black convertible and she turned on the ignition. “I’m not sure how business is going, exactly,” she answered, pulling onto the road. “I’m still wrapping my head around it all. But I actually have a meeting with financiers this afternoon, which should help clarify things.” _Even if I just kissed my last chance to prepare goodbye_. Still, she somehow wasn’t half as annoyed with herself as she had been lingering in the courtroom.

“Well, it’s more than I’ll ever understand,” Korra said with a laugh. “Is this why you’ve had to go to the trials?”

“Partly. I guess I’ve also been curious...you know, about my dad.” It sounded so juvenile, but Korra didn’t laugh.

“I can only imagine,” she answered. “If my dad had been lying to me like that? Sorry, I mean...this must be hard.”

Asami was unsure if she was speeding because of her meeting or the topic. She slowed to make a left. “It’s complicated,” she said after a moment of silence.

Korra picked at the handle of the passenger seat. “Are you hoping he’ll get acquitted?”

“No!” The answer came quickly. “No, of course not; not after what he did. He bombed the city, he—he tried to kill you.” _And me_. She forced herself to concentrate on the road ahead of her, though the usual tightening of the throat that often accompanied her thinking about that day didn’t come.

“Oh, I just meant...wouldn’t it be better for your company?”

Asami frowned slightly as she considered the question. “I don’t think so... If anything, a guilty sentence would at least show people that he’s nowhere near Future Industries, wouldn’t it?”

Korra shrugged. “That makes sense. When will you know? Did the trial seem like it was reaching an end today?”

“Oh they’re trying all the Equalists at once and holding off on sentencing. Today was the trial of a woman who helped smuggle supplies, and people, into their base.”

“There were so many of them!”

“Apparently they didn’t discover her involvement until one of Iroh’s more recent sweeps,” Asami explained.

“I wish I could be helping,” Korra said, “but Tenzin says I need to focus on my spiritual connections, now that I finally can go into the Avatar State. It’s like he’s trying to keep me on the island as much as possible!”

“Well, it seems like you’ve managed ways around that.”

The Avatar grinned. “I do what I can. Though I probably should have stayed for Izumi.”

Asami cringed thinking about how she had embarrassed herself in front of the Fire Lord. “After my running out of the room, I’m sure no one thought anything of it.” She turned onto the street alongside the docks and pulled the car against a curb.

“You had business stuff to take care of,” Korra said with a wave of her hand. “Anyway, thanks for giving me a ride—you really didn’t have to.”

“Of course; I’m happy to.”

Korra put a hand on the side of the car and hoisted herself out in one smooth movement, without bothering to open the door. “Well, see you tonight. Good luck with your meeting.”

“You too. I mean...yes. See you.” Once Korra had gone a good twenty feet away, Asami clapped a hand to her forehead. Yet there was no time to dwell on her idiocy. She pulled away from the curb, back in the direction they had come, and drove off.

Asami wouldn’t miss her meeting, she knew, but she had wanted to study her notes on the last quarterly report just one more time. _You knew what it meant when you offered that ride_. Even so, she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. There was something about Korra that always made it easy for Asami to open up, though her mouth seemed to say things without her brain’s consent. And while their interactions on Air Temple Island tended to be limited, there’d be nights where she would go to bed still smiling from one quip over dinner.

Even driving towards a meeting that was unlikely to bring any good news for Future Industries, Asami’s mood was somehow better than it had been all week. Perhaps it was because Korra was actually willing to ask about her, rather than lapsing into an embarrassed silence the way everyone else did anytime the trials were mentioned. If only they had spent more time together after she had found out the truth about him. But they were still practically strangers to one another then, and Asami had looked to Mako for support. _And now they have each other_. Maybe she had been feeling jealous of the wrong person.

Asami shook her head, trying to push all of this away. She needed to get into a business mentality, not indulge in these teenage whims.

This meeting could mean everything for her company, she knew. At the moment, Future Industries was in a tailspin. In the few short weeks since Asami had begun seeing to its management, nearly a fifth of her employees had left, and that was nothing compared to the loss of investors. Worse still, the company had close to ninety million yuans due in financial obligations, yet only a third of that available to meet them. Sometimes she wondered if this had been her father’s notion of a final punishment for her being such an “ungrateful, insolent child.” It was made more uncomfortable by the fact that upon greeting her, most of the company executives expressed their hope that Hiroshi’s trial would “soon be behind him” in so many words. As if she was merely a legal placeholder until Kayaqtuk worked his magic.

Asami had put an end to that talk the next day, when she fired Hiroshi’s Chief Technology Officer. She hadn’t intended it at first, but once she began looking through the company’s paperwork, it became blindingly obvious that the woman had been intimately involved with the design and production of Equalist weaponry. _Well that, or she had been having an affair with my father_. Nothing else explained her timesheets, and either way, that was not someone Asami meant to keep around.  

The same day, her Director of Facilities and Vice President quit.

Her one stroke of good fortune had been that the company CFO, Lian, was willing to stay at Future Industries until the end of the quarter, conveniently when his contract was up for renegotiation.

He had been the one to arrange her meeting...the last thing he did before tendering his resignation over a week ago. Asami knew she needed to somehow find the funds to hire a replacement; without someone who understood finances, how would the company ever turn around? Yet for now, she would have to face this meeting alone and hope for the best.

She parked her Satomobile and tried to take her time climbing out and walking the two blocks to the bank. Though she certainly had no time to look over the notes she had planned on, she was still a good ten minutes early, and had no desire to seem overeager for help from the start.

Still, her nerves or impatience got the better of her; before long she was seated in a chair in the spacious lobby, after a dispassionate receptionist told her the bankers were still in another meeting.

For a minute Asami did nothing but drum her fingers on the arm of the chair, before deciding that she might as well at least attempt to look over one of her fiscal reports, even if it was unlikely to do any good. Her purse was a mess of newspaper clippings, sheets of notes, pens, and other paraphernalia. In her search, her fingers struck a small mirror, which she withdrew to give herself one last, appraising look. She hardly felt like a businessman, but perhaps a professional appearance could at least fool the others.

She was just tucking a stray piece of hair into place when someone approached her, their figure casting a shadow onto her chair. She glanced up to see a severe-looking woman, her grey hair pulled into a tight bun. “You must be Asami Sato,” the woman said in a warm voice that clashed fabulously with her appearance.

“Oh—yes!” Asami awkwardly jumped up from her seat, trying to both put her mirror away and shift her handbag onto her shoulder in one motion. It ended up uncomfortably dropping to inner elbow, where it hung by its strap. “Asami is fine,” she continued, holding out a hand. Standing, she had a good half-foot on the woman.

“Asami it is,” she answered, taking her hand. Though her skin was thin and folded, her grip was surprisingly strong. “I am Seung. It’s a pleasure. I hope you don’t mind...the boys are waiting for us in a conference room.”

“Of course not,” Asami said, smiling. Seung turned and gestured ahead, and the two women crossed the lobby together.

“I must say, this has been a meeting we’ve been looking forward to for some time,” Seung said, her voice still dripping with honey.

“It...it has been?”

“Why yes, it’s rather been an inevitability since the Equalists were exposed—No down this hallway right here; that’s it— After all, even Lau Gan-Lan’s image has hardly recovered, and those were false allegations from planted evidence.” She suddenly stopped walking and looked up with a smile. “Oh how tactless of me; you must know all about that.”

“I had nothing to do with it,” Asami said. She could feel heat rushing to her face.

“Of course you didn’t—I didn’t mean to imply otherwise,” Seung said, shaking her head and still smiling. She began to move again. “When was it you took over the company? A month ago?”

Asami hesitated before following her once more. “Two.”

“Oh my, that’s no time at all, isn’t it? Yes, well, like I was saying, we’ve been keeping an eye on the situation for some time for that reason, not to mention Cabbage Corp’s tendency to introduce rival products rather than develop their own. It’s a fascinating industry, wouldn’t you agree? It’s no wonder you father fought so nobly for stricter patent laws over the years.”

“...Right,” she responded lamely, searching for anything else to say.

She was saved the effort when Seung stopped abruptly and opened a door to an impressive conference room. There was floor-to-ceiling glass on all four sides, interrupted only by the infrequent columns of brick that provided the structure. The far side revealed a spectacular view of Republic City’s downtown district. The plush red carpet looked as though no one had ever stepped on it before, and the oval table that filled the room was freshly polished. Asami made her way through the doorframe, careful not to accidentally bang into one of the see-through walls.

‘The boys’ turned out to be a pair of middle-aged men, who sat with their backs to the city. They both rose as the women entered the room. “Aujaq, Kazuo, this is Asami,” Seung said cheerily.

The balding man in a dark blue suit reached his hand across the table. “Aujaq...pleasure.” His grip was clammy. Kazuo’s was like a dead fish.

“The pleasure’s mine,” Asami said, choosing a chair across from them.

Seung positioned herself two seats down, at the table’s head. “Asami was just telling me how briefly she’s been running things at Future Industries.”

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Two months,” she said, trying her best to sound enthusiastic rather than embarrassed.

“Wow!” Aujaq said, a broad smile appearing on his face. There was something about it that made Asami’s skin crawl.

“You must be very busy these days,” Kazuo offered in a soft voice.

She tried to ignore how patronizing the statement was. _He meant it kindly, I’m sure_. “There’s a lot to take in, but at this point I’m just ready to work.”

“If only the market would agree with you,” Aujaq said with a laugh. The two other bankers joined in.

“Did you work for Future Industries when your father was in charge?” Seung asked.

“Somewhat. Though not in an official capacity,” Asami admitted. “I’d help with product design and testing here and there.”

“But never management,” Kazuo concluded. Asami felt her flush returning, but he gave a small smile and continued. “Forgive me, Asami. I just admit—I’m a bit surprised you showed up alone. I at least assumed Lian would be here. He’s quite the capable CFO, even if a bit unorthodox.”

“Yes, how is he?” Aujaq asked.

“He’s well, as far as I know,” she said, trying to keep her face neutral. She wondered if the room had always been so oppressively hot. “But we figured that as the owner and CEO of Future Industries, this meeting was more than in my purview.”

She was afraid they might argue the point further, but instead Seung’s smile extended and Aujaq nodded his head ponderously. “Yes, yes, I suppose especially in these uncertain times, business owners must learn to trust in themselves, or risk losing everything.”

“Because of the trials?” Asami asked slowly, unsure if he meant it as a jab against her.

“I believe he’s speaking of the elections,” Seung offered.

“Oh, right—of course.”

Kazuo brought his hands together. “Yes, it’s quite unclear what it will mean for the business sector. Especially with this ‘Assembly’ making the laws now. Then there's the candidates themselves; the polls in today’s paper show that Xar is keeping his lead. And there’s less than a month until the first election now.”

Aujaq shook his head sadly. “It would be bad news for business owners, indeed. Especially if this ‘Labor Party’ can earn enough Assembly seats. Don’t you agree, Asami?”

She frowned. “Xar’s suggestions for corporate taxes are higher, but it would also mean that our consumer base would have more disposable income to spend. Besides, there’s his platform on—”

“That’s our unorthodox Lian speaking,” Aujaq interrupted, wagging a finger at her. Asami fought the urge to curl her hand into a fist.

“Voting for Xar would be costly to Future Industries, it’s as simple as that.” Kazuo said with a small shrug.

“I didn’t say I was voting for him!” she insisted, her voice louder than she intended.

“Of course,” Aujaq said, nodding, “we didn’t mean to imply that. Raiko would surely be a much safer choice for you.”

“Naturally,” Kazuo agreed. “His minimum wage policy in particular—”

“I haven’t decided who I’m voting for yet,” Asami said bluntly. “And I have more reasons to vote for someone than who allows me to pay my employees the least.”

Aujaq’s smile faltered for a moment. “Well...I suppose politics can be tricky.”

“My grandson is constantly changing his mind about this too,” Seung said. “I think he’s just still excited that he’s the minimum voting age. Seventeen? Can you imagine?”

“I think it was something Councilman Tenzin decided on a whim, so as to let the Avatar vote,” Kazuo suggested.

Asami wondered how Tenzin or the Fire Lord would react to their painstaking decisions being referred to as ‘whims.’ “Korra is eighteen,” she said, wondering why she was bothering.

“What fun!” Seung exclaimed.

“Please,” Asami began, with a calmness she didn’t quite feel, “I’m sure you have many important meetings today. Shall we get down to business?”

“If that’s what you want,” Aujaq said with a shrug. He leaned back in his chair.

“I trust you understand the financial state of your company?” Kazuo asked in a solemn voice.

“Yes. We have tens of millions of yuans owed in financial obligations, and are currently not selling enough product to meet them.” It was embarrassing to state so simply, but Asami knew there was no reason to keep the truth from bankers. _They are here to help, however they seem_.

Seung still wore a smile, though there was a hardness in her eyes Asami hadn’t seen before. “And it would seem your price reductions have failed to bolster sales.”

“Yes,” Asami answered.

“Well, you do have excess inventory that’s not moving, and inefficiencies when it comes to delivery,” Kazuo said. “There are certainly cost-saving measures that could be taken.”

Aujaq nodded. “Yes, product sitting in inventory does little for your bottom-line.”

“I know,” Asami said. “The trouble is that sales are—”

“No,” Seung interrupted. “The trouble is that you’re in need of at least sixty million yuans to meet your obligations, and there are no short-term fixes for that.”

“I...suppose that’s true,” she conceded, wondering if bankers ever talked to her father like this.

“Well, Asami, we’re happy to extend loans in that amount to Future Industries,” Kazuo said. “We believe in the quality and ingenuity of your products, and what that means for the company’s long-term outlook.”

“Oh, I… Thank—”

He held up a hand. “But we would require you to yield financial control of your company to your shareholders.”

His words seemed foreign. “I’d have to, what?”

Aujaq shifted in his seat. “As we see it, the problem for Future Industries is your father...and your name. No one wants to drive a ‘Satomobile,’ when Sato himself bankrolled Amon.”

To Asami’s horror, she felt a lump rising in her throat. “I know,” she said gruffly, choking it down. “But if I yielded financial control...what does that mean exactly?”

“For you?” Seung asked. “You would have no further part in Future Industries, but the company would remain profitable. Clearly, as the owner, you have a significant amount of shares, which you would be selling to us.”

Kazuo lay a hand on the table. “In short, you would receive a hefty sum of money—quite enough to live on, especially if you invested wisely. And of course, we could help you with that.” The three bankers chuckled amongst themselves.

Asami felt as though the room were spinning. She would be free of Future Industries—of her father’s company. That’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? That certainly seemed the case when she had tried her best to avoid the company for weeks. Besides, to never worry about the finances, to never set foot in the buildings where Equalist weapons were developed, to never look at Hiroshi’s handwriting on schematics again... She would be free to do what she wanted.

But what _was_ that, exactly? For as long as she could remember, she was happiest when her father would let her tinker in his workshop, or when she drove the company forklifts. Future Industries might have been full of tainted memories for her, but without it, what did she have? An empty mansion?

“We have papers drawn up,” Aujaq said. His voice sounded far away.

“No,” she heard herself reply.

The bankers exchanged a look with each other. “Excuse me?” Seung asked, her patronizing smile still glued to her face.

“No,” Asami repeated, the word seeming to give her confidence. “I won’t give up Future Industries. It is my company.” _My family_.

“But, the Sato name..." Aujaq began.

“Is not just my father’s. He doesn’t get to decide its meaning.”

Kazuo grimaced. “The problem is, the press seems to be doing that for him.”

“My father isn’t in charge,” she answered. “He’s irrelevant to the company at this point. You said you believed in our products enough so to loan the money with no clear idea of who would be running things. Let me be the one to do that.”

“Oh Asami,” Seung said, her voice full of pity, “even if your last name wasn’t what it is, I’m afraid there’s nothing to recommend you for that position.”

“I know the products better than anyone. I’ve already even thought of several upgrades I can make to my father’s biplanes—”

“And who’s buying these biplanes?” Aujaq asked. “I have no doubt you’re a capable engineer, but you don’t have what it takes to be a CEO. Not now, at any rate.”

Kazuo nodded. “It would simply be a bad investment. You’re quite young, and idealistic, it seems. You won’t even vote for the man who will help your company the most. That’s admirable, perhaps, but not someone on whom we would risk a gamble as a business leader. A remarkably costly gamble, at that.”

Seung reached a hand towards her. “Please, this offer is the one thing that might save Future Industries.”

Asami wondered what would happen if she burst into tears in front of them. “No. I won’t. This offer would make Future Industries cease to be what it is. I won’t take it.”

Seung leaned back in her chair. “If that’s the way of it,” she said stiffly. “But make no mistake. You haven’t seen the last of us.”

“I... Do you mean you’ll reconsider extending me the loan if things improve in the next few months?” Asami asked, confused.

Aujaq let out a laugh, but it was Kazuo who answered. “Certainly not. She means that we’ll be seeing you in a few months when we’re called upon to repossess your company.”


	10. Raiko III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the first-round election drawing near, Raiko remains optimistic despite a bumpy campaign trail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **Original Characters**  
>  -Kushala: Raiko's campaign manager  
> -Rovrik the Chairman of the PNP, Raiko's political party  
> -Rong, an oil tycoon and founder of the PNP  
> -Shia, a PNP staffer  
> -Sasros, the PNP Director of Communications  
> -Hema, a PNP staffer working closely with Sasros  
> -Mai, a PNP staffer  
> -Jian, a PNP staffer  
> -Mongang, a columnist for RC's biggest paper  
>  **Candidates for Presidency**  
>  -Titarri, Bending Heritage Party of the United Republic  
> -Xar, Labor Party  
> -Raiko, First People’s National Party of the United Republic  
> -Pundarik, Natural Law Party of the Republic  
> -Bahira, Harmony Party  
> -Niu, Bloc Pohuai  
> -Zaccor, Green Party
> 
> * * *

 

 

> _"But when a candidate for public office faces the voters he does not face men of sense; he faces a mob of men whose chief distinguishing mark is the fact that they are quite incapable of weighing ideas, or even of comprehending any save the most elemental—people whose whole thinking is done in terms of emotion, and whose dominant emotion is dread of what they cannot understand. So confronted, the candidate must either bark with the pack, or count himself lost."  
>  _
> 
> -Mongang, The Republic City Sun

 

“I think he likes you!” the round-faced woman said in a simpering tone.

It was hard for Raiko to be appreciative of the sentiment. All his attention was on the baby he was holding, for fear of dropping it. He had never been comfortable around children. Even when his eight-year-old niece came to stay with him for two weeks last summer, it was Buttercup who saw to her care. And infants were even worse, especially if they cried.

The one in his arms was mercifully silent, but there was a slight dampness to its clothing that made Raiko uneasy. “Well, he has good taste then,” he made himself say good-humoredly. “He knows who it is that will make the United Republic a safe place to grow up.”

“I’m sure of that,” the mother answered.

To her left, her husband nodded his head. “I must say, we were so impressed by your debate performance, Mr. Raiko.”

 _I doubt it would take much to impress you_. “Well, I think my values speak for themselves.” The baby gave a small hiccup, and Raiko immediately handed it back to the mother. He tried to recover by kissing her free hand. “It was such a pleasure to meet you both.”

She tittered. “The pleasure is all mine.”

“Careful Sir,” the husband said, placing an arm on his wife’s back. “Or I may be jealous.”

“Oh stop it, Yuuto,” she said. “Mr. Raiko is a man of honor.”

Raiko offered another forced laugh in return. “Indeed I am.” _That, and you’d have your work cut out for you tempting anyone_. The woman was plain-looking at best, though it was the child on her hip that detracted from her appearance more than anything else. “Thank you both, if you’d excuse me.”

The next person in line was an old man whose breath smelled of spoiled cheese and who wouldn’t let go of his hand when he offered to shake it. After him came three young college students who dared to think they could catch Raiko off-guard with questions about the Hundred Year War. Then was a probending team who wanted to know his opinion on the season’s delay. _Be one with the people_ , he reminded himself, donning a smile each time. _You can win them all over_.

He had just begun to entertain the ravings of a woman who was hysterically bemoaning the lack of spiritual balance when a gentle but clear voice called his name. “Excuse me, Mr. Raiko. I’m so sorry, but I have to interrupt.”

He turned to see Mai standing before him. She looked as unprofessional as ever. Despite a business-like shirt collar showing at the top of her long jacket, it was unclear whether she was even wearing a skirt underneath; there was a few good inches of exposed thigh in between the base of her jacket and her knee-socks. “Why I am meeting with this charming woman,” he said in his most flattering voice. Mai glanced nervously in her direction to see her now frowning, with arms folded. Raiko struggled not to roll his eyes. “This cannot wait?” he prodded.

That seemed to focus Mai again. “No, I’m sorry Sir...Ma’am. I’m afraid there’s a pressing matter that requires Mr. Raiko’s attention.”

“My apologies,” he said to the woman, without offering his hand. “I’ll certainly take what you said into consideration.” He then turned and followed Mai away from the small crowd. “Did Kushala send you?”

She looked back over her shoulder before answering. “Yes, she did. She wants you back at headquarters right away.”

“You should tell her that I’m supposed to be greeting these people for another hour.”

Mai brushed a strand of her long hair out of her face. “She knows your schedule, Mr. Raiko. We just received some news that’s a bit of an emergency.”

“But what about the crowd?” He did his best to keep the annoyance out of his voice. Mai could hardly be held responsible for Kushala’s poor planning.

“Sasros came with me. As soon as we’re out of sight he’ll address them to let them know.” She rounded a corner. “Your car is waiting for you right there,” she said, pointing.

Once they had both climbed in the backseat, Raiko turned towards her. “What is this emergency?”

She shifted uncomfortably and crossed a leg over the other. “Kushala and Rovrik both seemed to want you to hear it from them first.” _They tell an intern before me?_ he thought. His aggravation must have shown because she continued with an apologetic, “It’s just some news about Xar.”

That pleased him even less. Since the Labor Party’s formation, it seemed, Xar was the candidate-to-beat. Although the debate seemed to have split public opinion more than ever, Xar still remained steadfast in the top spot of nearly every poll.

“Xar,” he muttered under his breath, looking out the window of the luxury Cabbage Car. Traffic was preventing them from moving much, but Raiko hardly cared; he was in no hurry to see Kushala, or to hear about this emergency. “It seems like he’s a shoo-in for the second ballot.”

“Well the first election is just two weeks away,” Mai offered.

 _As if I don’t know. Does she think I was greeting those fools for fun?_ He found the face-to-face time grating, though he knew an approachable image was as important as the ability to deliver impressive speeches. He absentmindedly ran his hand across his moustache, only to realize that the faintest smell of baby powder still clung to his fingers. He frowned, hastily wiping his hand on his pant leg.

It was fortunate that Buttercup had needed to attend the Peach Blossom Society’s luncheon; though years had passed since they had last spoken openly about the topic, she could still get emotional around children every now and then. When they had first married, starting a family seemed like a possibility. Buttercup always spoke of wanting at least three or four kids, once Raiko’s career settled down. Yet it never seemed to, especially once _The Republican Star_ began to put Harbor Town’s other papers out of business.

“Do you think things might be calmer this year?” she would always ask at the turn of the calendar.

“I’m the Editor-in-Chief, not a copy boy,” he used to answer.

Once, she had tried to tell him that she still wanted children, even if he couldn’t make the time. She had gone so far as to offer to quit her charity organizations. But Raiko had been adamant that she not act as a single mother. It just wasn’t healthy. And each year, his own desire to become a father waned, if it had ever truly existed in the first place.

He turned back from the window to consider Mai. She seemed to feel his eyes, and gave a soft smile in response. She was quite pretty; her skin still with the glow of youth. It would hopefully be some time before she had to consider such matters. He wondered if she even had a boyfriend at this point. “Well,” he said, “it seems as though Pundarik will not be making it through to the next election, unfortunately. You had done quite well playing him in our practice-debates.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said with a small laugh. “I will miss it.”

“Perhaps I could convince Kushala to let you play Titarri. I always felt you were more suited to the role than Jakiw.”

She fingered a button on her coat. “I’m not so sure about that, Sir. Jakiw is a bender. I think his perspective allowed him to really understand Titarri’s views in a way I can’t.”

Raiko furrowed his brow. “Still, you should be doing more than running petty errands.”

“I...I’m okay doing what Kushala needs. They sent me to get you because I was at a good stopping point in my oppo research, that’s all.” Mai gave another smile. “Truly, I’m just so happy to be working on a campaign in the first place. As soon as the elections were announced, it was all that I wanted to do.”

“Regardless of the candidate?”

“Well, let’s just say I’m _very_ happy to be working on yours,” she answered, yet again sweeping her hair away from her face. It seemed to fall back to her shoulders in slow-motion. Raiko was about to respond when he felt the car suddenly stop. He had nearly forgotten about the driver.

He and Mai walked into the leased office building together, but once they had passed the reception area, she told him that she needed to check in with Shia. “They’re in the conference room upstairs,” she told him, before hurrying down the cramped aisle in between the numerous desks that lined the first floor.

Raiko could feel many staffers looking at him. He offered a wave and smile before heading to the stairwell. The second floor was nearly empty when he entered the open office space. Choden, the PNP’s Director of Scheduling, was leaning over the desk of a middle-aged woman Raiko couldn’t quite place, and Jian was sorting frantically through a stack of papers in the corner. Otherwise, there didn’t seem to be anyone working. Upon seeing him, Choden stood upright. “They’re all in the conference room, Raiko,” she said with a smile, though there was something foreboding in her tone.

 _Where else would they be._ “I’ve been told,” he answered. He didn’t bother waving to Jian as he crossed the floor. He had never particularly liked his attitude, though fortunately aside from the practice-debates, their paths hadn’t crossed much.

He was only a few feet from the door when he heard the voices from the other side. It was Rovrik speaking. “...don’t you think?”

Kushala’s muffled reply came right away. “Then you be the one to tell him that. He looks for reasons to disagree with me.”

Raiko pushed the door open with a scowl, just as Rovrik had begun to object. He stopped at once after seeing who had entered. “Ah,” he said simply. Next to him, Kushala’s eyes widened, before she forced her face into a smile.

There were at least three-dozen staffers crowded around the rectangular table in the center of the room, though none were sitting. Kushala and Rovrik were standing at the table’s head, a map with several pins sticking out of it hung on the wall just behind them. The table itself was a mess of papers, filing boxes, and newspapers, as well as four or five telephones. Everybody stared up at Raiko. “I’m needed?” he asked in a firm voice.

For a moment no one moved, as if suddenly frozen. Then, Kushala clapped her hands together and turned to look down the table. “Everybody, if you could please give us the room. Most of you have your assignments. If you’re unsure... Boqin, you’re in charge for now.” The staffers responded instantaneously, moving to the exit as quickly as they could. Some grabbed at a few pieces of papers, but most headed straight for the door. _I haven’t seen people move this fast since boot camp_. “Hema, wait, you stay,” Kushala called just before a squat woman made her exit.

“Why don’t you sit, Raiko?” Rovrik asked, gesturing to his right, while taking his own seat. Raiko glared irritably at the chair on Rovrik’s other side, also at the head of the table, on which Kushala was leaning. _It’s as if they forget I’m the boss_.

Still, he sat, unwilling to look peevish. Hema closed the door once the last staffer left, and then moved to sit on Raiko’s other side. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

“First things first,” Kushala said. She pushed herself upright. “Raiko, this is Hema. She’s Sasros’s assistant, and has been invaluable to us so far.”

He turned, doing his best to smile. “A pleasure.” Before she could respond he looked back to Rovrik. “I am to understand there is an emergency? There must be, if it pulled me away from my face-to-face time with the voters. Weren’t we just saying last night that a push to seem approachable in this next week would be enough to get be through the first round?”

The Chairman frowned. “Yes, well... Kushala?”

She crossed the room and stopped at the middle of the table. There, she placed her fingers on a single sheet of paper and slid it towards Raiko. It barely reached Hema, who passed it the rest of the way. “This is an advanced copy of Mongang’s column for tomorrow,” Kushala explained. Raiko hastily read the title, ‘ _Clowns in the Ring_.’ “Kira managed to get her hands on it. He... He declares that he’s going to vote for Xar.”

The words seemed to hang in the air. Raiko dropped his eyes to the final paragraph and read silently, _My bets at the moment are on Xar. Later on I may hedge, but for the present I stand pat. I hope and expect to vote for him. He is the most ideal candidate—an accomplished boob-bumper, full of sough and gush of the tinhorn messiah, and yet safely practical. He will give a good show if he is elected. There will be surcease from the austere and incomprehensible imbecilities of our former Council. He will steer a reasonable safe course between the anarchy of democracy and the anarchy of plutocratic despotism. He will please the plain people and he will please the interest. There is no more likely President in the ring_.

When he finished, he nearly laughed. “This is hardly a ringing endorsement.”

Rovrik’s frown deepened. “True, but read the marked paragraph out loud if you will. Mongang has choice words for you as well.”

Raiko found the red brackets in the middle of the page, cleared his throat, and began to read. “Of the whole crowd at present in the ring, it is probable that only Xar would make a respectable President. Pundarik is a simple-minded old dodo with a delusion of persecution; Titarri is a political mountebank of the first water; Zaccor is allowing himself to be lost in the shuffle; Raiko is a third-rate political wheel-ostrich horse, with the face of the catalogue model, the intelligence of a respectable agricultural implement dealer, and the imagination of a lodge joiner; Niu and Bahira are simply bad jokes.” He tossed the paper down. “What of it? Mongang is an elitist and always has been. Even his praise of Xar reads as insults. I doubt he’ll have much sway over the voters.”

“The _Republic City Sun_ has the highest circulation,” Hema pointed out. When Raiko turned to glare at her she looked down and blushed.

“Even so,” he continued, fixing his eyes on Kushala, who was now leaning on the chair directly across the table from Raiko, “you’ve been saying for some time that I won’t be able to catch Xar before the first election. Even if he gets a small boost from this, why should it change our strategy?”

“Well, a couple of reasons,” she answered. “Every day Pundarik and Zaccor climb in the polls. Titarri’s in third, but she’s not far behind you and her numbers have been quite consistent, which likely means that these are voters shying away from you.”

“It’s because of this absurd reactionary response to technology,” Raiko said with a wave of his hand. “Pundarik and Zaccor are running with a focus on spiritualism and the environment, and people find that appealing after the Equalists and their weapons. It will pass.”

Kushala bit her lip. “Yes, but not in the next two weeks. The fact is, Mongang said worse things about you here than the others, not to mention he endorsed Xar, whose platform is quite similar to Zaccor’s. It’s not impossible that you and Zaccor could trade places in the polls as a result of this.”

“Or he could simply do us all a favor and bump off Titarri. Besides, I still fail to see how this is an emergency,” Raiko answered. “We were worried about Zaccor climbing in the polls last night when you arranged my numerous meet-and-greet events. You said that would be enough to secure the first round.”

“We’re saying it might not be anymore. Plus..." Kushala looked to Hema as her voice trailed off.

The woman turned a surprising shade of crimson, but spoke all the same. “Plus if Mongang is giving his endorsement, other reporters are likely to follow suit,” she said quietly. “And so far the articles about you have been...well, mixed.”

“I have many adversaries in that business, you know this,” Raiko snapped, directing his words more towards Kushala than anyone else. “That’s what happen when you run a profitable paper; you step on toes.”

Kushala looked skeptical. “I thought your paper was known for its tempered stance.”

“Exactly. I refused to sacrifice my integrity and play into their sensationalist culture for profit.”

His campaign manager looked like she wanted to argue the point, but Rovrik held up a hand. “Whatever the reasons, I don’t think we can solve this issue in the next two weeks. Not to mention, other columnists will likely be following Mongang’s lead and writing their own endorsements within the next few _days_. The way Kushala and I see it, there’s only two things that can be done at this point. One is to go after Pundarik and Zaccor.”

“We never considered them big enough threats to do heavy digging,” Kushala explained, “but I’m sure there’s dirt to be found. There always is. Not to mention, their platforms are far from unbeatable.”

“Didn’t Bahira already tell the press about Zaccor’s discharge from the forces for leaving before his minimum service requirement was up?” Raiko asked.

Kushala nodded. “She did, but the public doesn’t seem to care as much as we thought they might. And Bahira herself served for over a decade. You mentioning it might seem..."

“Opportunistic,” Rovrik cut in.

She gave a small smile. “Exactly.”

“Well then, I can criticize their stances. I’ve been saying from the start that Pundarik essentially supports the continuation of bender oppression with his concept of the ‘natural order,’” Raiko suggested.

“No,” Kushala said, standing upright again and folding her arms. “We can’t have you be the one to say something negative.”

“It would hurt my image?”

“That,” Hema said, “and it would be short-sighted. The candidates who don’t move onto the second election will undoubtedly give their own endorsements—and those mean a lot more than a reporter’s. Their voters will likely follow their recommendations, so you don’t want to isolate any potential allies for the future.”

 _Then why are they wasting my time asking for my suggestions?_ “So then taking down Zaccor and Pundarik seems like work for our staffers, not me,” he said, trying not to let his anger show. “Was there a reason I couldn’t have been told tonight...after my events?”

Rovrik's eyes flicked towards Kushala before answering. “This is breaking news, Raiko,” the Chairman said. “Besides, I said this was one of two things that could be done. The other is to increase your exposure. Your platforms are solid, but we worry that your message is lost or muddied at times.” He paused and leaned forward. “I’m concerned that you’re getting the wrong idea; we very much believe in your campaign, and once Xar doesn’t have candidates like Bahira to hide behind, we’re quite confident your balanced stances will become apparent to the people.”

“Not to mention,” Kushala said, circling back and finally taking her seat, “corporate donations will flood in after the first election. Right now it’s just a matter of getting you there.”

“Exactly,” Rovrik agreed. “You know how businessmen are; they don’t want to commit unless they’re sure it’s a good investment. However, even there, we have some good news. At the moment a number of our staffers are...impressing the importance of early donations to several key business leaders with whom we’ve formed relationships. It seems that we’ve already secured a few. With that, we can purchase radio airtime and newspaper advertisements to run over the next two weeks.”

“Sasros and I have been working on creating ads that focus on certain aspects of your platform,” Hema said. “Some journalists have criticized you for not being specific enough about your ideas and solutions. These would seek to correct that.”

Kushala gave Raiko a searching look, but he waited, knowing she surely had something of her own to add. She did not disappoint. “We were hoping to get you into the radio booth, to record some of these yourself.” She paused and bit her lip. “You _do_ have a perfect voice for it.”

 _It must pain her to admit that_ , he thought with satisfaction. “I’d like to write this content myself,” he said. “Though I’m sure what you and Sasros have created will be good jumping-off points,” he added, looking in Hema’s direction.

“Of course,” Rovrik said happily. “You’re quite proactive, Raiko; we’ve always valued that.”

Suddenly, it hit him. “In fact,” Raiko said, “would we be able to purchase five to ten minutes of uninterrupted airtime during the evening?”

Rovrik’s smile faltered. “I’m sure we could, but Kushala seemed to feel our resources would be put to better use if it was spread around. If we had multiple ads over the next week or so.”

“It would really help keep you in everyone’s focus,” she said, nodding.

“Perhaps, but it’s my speeches that earned me this nomination, and my speeches to which people respond most positively.”

“They’re also the source of some criticism though,” Kushala said. “Hema already mentioned your ‘lack of specifics’ issue.”

“My issue,” he said, his anger rising, “as you already noted, was that my balanced stance is eclipsed by the...what did Mongang call them? The ‘clowns in the ring’? Compared to Bahira, of course Xar seems reasonable. But the fact is, _I_ am the only grounded candidate. I shall write a speech highlighting just that, which will inherently call other platforms into question. I won’t even have to say anything negative about my peers.”

Kushala bit her lip. “Your speech accepting the PNP nomination was very much along those lines already,” she pointed out. “And yet you’re still falling in the polls. I don’t know that this is the strategy to stick with.”

“You are looking for reasons to disagree with me,” he answered. It was all too satisfying to watch her face fall. “Because of the debate, and then these smaller events, I have not given a proper speech in some time. It’s what I need right now.”

“Maybe he’s right,” Rovrik said slowly, turning to Kushala.

She met his eyes and for a moment said nothing. Finally, she managed a quiet, “You had agreed with me.” She cast a furtive look in Raiko’s direction.

 _Perhaps they need the room to sort this spat_ , he thought in amusement. Rovrik simply gave her a shrug. “What you say makes sense, but at the same time, Raiko’s speeches _are_ what convinced Rong to extend him the candidacy.”

“But Rong hasn’t been here since..." She paused and shook her head slightly. “I don’t know; his speeches seem to be made more for a crowd than a radio booth.”

“Then why not both?” Raiko interrupted. “Surely I could give a speech tonight that would also be broadcast?”

Rovrik raised his eyebrows at Kushala, but it was Hema who spoke. “We would need at least a day to secure airtime. Perhaps tomorrow night? I could talk to Sasros about venues.”

Kushala could tell she was defeated. “I...suppose.”

“If it goes well,” Rovrik said, “I may even be able to secure more donations, allowing for us to still run those ads we had planned.”

“Yes, well I’m sure there’s someone it will convince,” she answered, looking thoughtful now. “In fact, I think I may have the perfect location. Hema, you do think we could get him on-air tomorrow night, correct?”

The staffer nodded. “As long as we send someone within the hour to make the arrangements.”

“Then go,” Kushala ordered. “If Sasros is back, bring him. It’s crucial that it’s tomorrow.”

As Hema made to leave the room, Raiko shifted in his seat. “Is the venue to be a surprise?” he asked.

Rovrik chuckled uncomfortably, as if unsure whether it was a joke. “Yes, I’m eager to know too,” he said. Raiko had always respected Rovrik, but sometimes he wondered if it was only his connections that had secured him the job.

“The first of the Equalist trials is supposed to conclude tomorrow, and there should be a sentencing for some lieutenant or other. There will be a great number of people outside City Hall once the court adjourns—people who may be quite worked up.” She rose again, and began to pace. “Raiko is good at choosing...strong words. And if his speech centers on his, what was the phrase? ‘Grounded platform’? It may resonate quite strongly.”

Rovrik gave a true smile now, and turned towards Raiko. “I like it, but what do you think? Are you up for writing such a speech in this short of a time-frame?”

“Of course,” he answered. “I can work on it tonight. _After_ the rest of my campaign events.”

Kushala nodded. “Good, good. You should be able to make your afternoon tea at the Southern Water Tribe Cultural Center,” she said. “In the meanwhile, I’ll spearhead the oppo research for Pundarik and Zaccor.”

“We won’t need it,” Raiko said. “I can promise you that.”

“This is the attitude I want to see,” Rovrik laughed.

“Even so, I’ll want to see a rough copy of your speech tomorrow morning,” Kushala said.

 _So you can tell me to skip the best sections again?_ Raiko thought. Still, he held his tongue. “If that’s all, then.”

Raiko couldn’t even wait for the night; the speech seemed to pour out from him, starting in the car on the way to the cultural center. He was lucky that he still stuck to his old reporter’s habit of carrying around a small notebook. Leaning against the backseat door, he began to write:

 _The human procession marches in the right direction. As we stand here, just having heard the Tribunal judges declare that [insert sentencing verdict], it is easy to allow ourselves panic, and to turn ourselves over to the tumult. Yet I’m here to remind each and every one of you that there isn’t anything the matter with our civilization, except that we are viewing it through a vision impaired by a cataclysmal revolution. Poise has been disturbed, nerves have been racked, and fever has rendered us irrational. But there is nothing fundamental the matter with our society_.

The words flowed so naturally that Raiko found himself quite irritated when the car stopped in front of the center.

The feeling hardly died once he was seated and served tea. He had never felt connected to his Water Tribe roots, no more than he felt connected to his paternal great grandfather, who had been an earthbender. Buttercup supposedly had a Water Tribe grandmother, though fortunately she didn’t show it, nor did she take a particular interest in her life beyond Republic City. Raiko found himself wishing more than once that she was by his side as he listened to Executive Director and Volunteer Coordinator prattle on about tribal unity. Buttercup was always so good at small talk.

“The Avatar herself is supposed to return home for the Glacier Spirits Festival,” Koko was now saying. “And the Chief as well, who happens to be her uncle. Isn’t that lucky? Together, they can ensure lasting cooperation.”

Suluk nodded happily. “With Harbor City continuing to prosper, the tendency to specify which Water Tribe people hail from is all but disappearing!”

“And we’re not just saying that because your mother was Northern,” Koko added, laughing.

Raiko forced himself to do the same, though he had barely took in a word, his mind still on his speech. “Yes, well, I think the true progress can be seen here in our city, where our roots hardly are remarked upon at all.”

Suluk’s face grew solemn. “I suppose we have the bender-tensions to thank for that,” he said. “We nonbenders are united, all.”

“Well, here in our Republic we feel the hurting wound, but we still think straight, and we mean to act straight,” Raiko answered, trying to picture a crowd in front of him. Both Koko and Suluk exchanged a look, but he continued. “Our present need is not heroics, but healing; not cure-alls—nostrums if you will—but normalcy; not revolution, but restoration; not agitation, but…” he tried to place the word. “But adjustment; not the dramatic, but the serenity; not submergence in irrationality, but...sustainment in triumphant nationality. Yes, that’s the phrase.”

“Well said,” Koko replied slowly. “I think you might be the man to give us that.”

“I suppose so,” he said. _I should mention an era of peace next_. “Because, the call now is for peace, formal, as well as actual. And the United Republic demands to have it, regardless of the political system. You see my colleagues trying to politicize it, but I say if it must be a campaign issue, we shall have peace and discuss it afterwards, because the actuality is imperative, and the theory is only deceptive. No, no, I mean ‘illusive,’ yes, that works better. And this, of course, is my priority.”

Suluk’s brow was furrowed. “Works better?” He shook his head slightly. “Well, I agree...I think. But how can peace be achieved when we’re still so divided?”

Raiko clapped the man on the back before answering, practically hearing how it would sound amplified through a microphone. “Well Sir, we challenged the proposal that an armed radical should dominate the country; it does not...become us, if you will, to assume that a radical—a rhetorical radical—shall direct humanity.”

He ended up surreptitiously jotting it all down on a napkin. After the cultural center came a visit to the bayside hospital, where photographers followed Raiko as he moved from sickbed to sickbed. He didn’t mind the the terminal ward; he had seen far worse during his time in the United Forces, and had always been quite healthy himself. He shook all of their hands for the cameras. All the while, his speech continued to take form.

“Yes,” he said to one man, who despite the healers’ best efforts, still had been coughing up blood every day for the past year, “this Republic has its ample tasks. If we put an end to extortionist economics, which lures us into utter chaos, ours will be the commanding example of world leadership today. If, through this new election process, we can find a truly representative popular government, we shall make democracy safe for the world. The Nations need to be reminded that all human ills are not curable by legislation, and that statutory enactment and top-down government offer no substitute for quality of citizenship.”

Raiko stopped into a local diner for a quick bite after the hospital visit. He had hoped to write even more once there, but he ended up shaking hands with everyone sitting at the counter. That also meant kissing two more babies, twins, though these were far less well-behaved. When one nearly spit up on his shoes, their hassled father at least had the decency to apologize profusely. “It’s no trouble,” Raiko said in his friendliest voice. “I’m sure they’re just eager to get back to their mother.”

However, it was enough to pull Raiko’s mind away from his speech. Instead, he contented himself to glance at the morning’s Post, which he hadn’t had a chance to read beforehand. The front page offered a puff piece by a reporter clearly in Bahira’s pocket, an article about a known Red Monsoon member who had tried to sign up to work one of the polls, and a short column on whether or not General Iroh’s sweeps were merely profiling nonbenders. Nothing proved intriguing enough to merit turning the page, so instead Raiko concentrated on finishing his sandwich as fast as he could so he could hit his next campaign stop.

It was the last of the day: a neighborhood block party not too far from his own. It was on the smaller side, though quite lavish. Kushala was always adamant that wealthier citizens were the most politically engaged, so Raiko drummed up the energy for even more greetings. _Perhaps this alone can secure enough contributions for the ads_.

The conversations were too truncated for Raiko to truly plan more of his speech, though every now and then he would try to offer a line that he felt could fit. He had just left a young couple who had seemed most impressed with his, “It is one thing to battle successfully against domination by prejudiced radicals, but it is quite another thing to revise human nature and suspend the fundamental laws of life and all of life’s acquirements,” when he spotted a familiar face. Titarri. Her long, silky hair was pulled back in a ponytail, which was draped stylishly over a suit-jacket. Underneath, she wore a slimming dress. _She looks as though she’s going on a date with a college-student, not running for office_.

He hesitated for a moment, and then approached her. When she turned to face him, her golden eyes widened in surprise. “Raiko!” she said in her dulcet tones. “I was _just_ reading an article about you!”

“Nothing scandalous, I hope?” he asked dryly. If she was trying to get under his skin, she didn’t know who she was dealing with.

“Of course not, just about polling. We’re competing for that number two spot, it seems. The papers would have everyone believe that we’re at each other’s throats!” Titarri laughed gaily.

“How ridiculous, I’ve never even thought to worry about it.”

“I’m so glad we can be on good terms. This campaign is stressful enough, isn’t it?”

Raiko forced himself not to smirk at the insult flying over her head. “For some, I suppose. I’ve been quite enjoying myself.”

Her eyes scanned his face. “Yes, well, sometimes the press..." She shook her head. “I’m sure when all is said and done, you and I can have a good laugh about our shared war stories.”

 _She’s already angling for a Cabinet position,_ he thought, amused. “Until that day, I’m sure we both have more people to greet.”

Raiko ended up leaving after just another half an hour, even though Titarri herself showed no signs of doing the same. Still, he had a speech to work on, one that nearly everyone in the city would listen to. That had to take priority over shaking hands with another thirty affluent voters. He managed to work out one more paragraph on the short ride back to his house.

_There can be no disguising everlasting truths. We shall make no recovery in seeking how little citizens can do; our restoration lies in doing the most which is reasonably possible for individuals to do. Under-production and hateful profiteering are both morally criminal, and must be combated._

Raiko thanked his driver for the day and climbed out of the car, only then realizing how tired he was. He felt oddly irritated at the weakness in his legs; he hadn’t even done that much walking. _I’m not the boy I once was,_ he thought miserably. Twenty years ago, a day like today would have been considered slow. Yet he couldn’t rest—not before finishing his speech.

Buttercup greeted him almost immediately after he walked through the door. “We have some leftover moo-sow roast, dear,” she said, taking his jacket off for him. “Are you hungry?”

“No, no I ate at a diner in-between stops. Thank you though.”

She hung his jacket on the coat rack and followed him as he went into his study. “It was quite the eventful Peach Blossom Society luncheon,” she said. “We’re organizing a charity drive for the orphans, and somehow Suzu volunteered me to head up the the outreach committee!” Raiko nodded as he pulled a bottle of shochu out of his cabinet and poured himself a neat glass. He took his seat and his wife continued. “I think they felt I might have more connections to potential donors, what with my political superstar husband.” She walked behind his chair and draped her arms around his neck.

He took a drink before gently removing one of her hands. “Well, we’ll have to see how the charity drive lines up with the election schedule. I’ll be needing you at later events with me.” He felt a pleasant burn from the alcohol in the back of his throat. He drew a pen out of its holder.

“Oh, of course,” Buttercup said, sounding a bit deflated. “Do you really have to work now? After such a long day?” She softly ran a hand through his hair.

He tried to ignore her touch, though he found himself thinking of Tala for the first time in weeks. He wondered if she would be listening to the radio tomorrow night. “Yes, I have a very important speech.”

“Can I hear some of it?” Buttercup’s hands moved to his shoulders, and she began to give him a massage.

Raiko took another sip. “I was thinking about discussing this new government, especially now that there’s going to be a people’s Assembly. Something about how it won’t cure everything. Perhaps..." he frowned, tapping his pen against his glass, “Out of the supreme tragedy came this new and promising governmental order, and I gladly praise it. No...acclaim it. ‘Acclaim’ is more erudite, I think. But strife has not abolished work, nor has it provided the magic touch that makes failure a success. Indeed, it has revealed no new reward for idleness.”

“Oh, that sounds awfully grim.”

“Well, it’s preceded by me talking about how each citizen must chip in to help our recovery,” he explained. “It will work in the context.”

“You would know best,” Buttercup said, though her hands had stopped moving. He wondered how much of it she had even taken in.

“The point is that we need to continue on, and I can be the one to lead us back to a peaceful society.” Raiko paused to jot down brief notes. “See, I’d then say something about how my best judgement of the Republic’s needs is to steady down, to get squarely on our feet, to make sure of...”

“Our recovery?”

“No,” he said, trying not to sound annoyed. _I could write this faster if she left._ “To make sure of the right path. That’s it.” He allowed himself another swallow. He could feel the warmth throughout him now. “Let’s get out of the fevered delirium of revolution, with the delusion...no. That’s too similar to ‘delirium.’ How about ‘hallucination’? It evokes the same image.”

“‘Hallucination,’ definitely,” she said with cheery confidence.

Raiko shook his head slightly. “The hallucination that all the ills of the world can be linked to bending, which is no more right than the misapprehension that no such ills exist. Maybe that should be ‘hallucination’ too. But, I know I want to then say something about how our good fortune and our eminence are dependent on the normal forward stride of all the Republican people.” It had been a line he had thought of during the block party.

Buttercup withdrew her hands. “It sounds like you’ll be occupied for a bit. I’m going to phone Suzu and check on that calendar.” She moved to his side. “I’ll be happy to hear this when you’re done.”

 _It will give me good practice, at least_. She bent over and kissed him, softly at first, but it soon deepened. Raiko closed his eyes and for a minute, could almost feel Tala again. But it was gone as soon as it had come. He pulled away. “I look forward to reading it to you.”

It took him the better part of an hour to work out the final two paragraphs.

_I would not have a United Republic living within and for herself alone, but I would have her self-reliant, independent, and ever nobler, stronger, and richer. Believing in our higher standards, reared through maintained opportunity, inviting the world to the same heights._

_There is no shortcut to the making of these ideals into glad realities. We have witnessed the futility and the mischief of ill-considered remedies for social and economic disorders. But we are now mindful as never before of the friction of modern society, and we must learn its causes and reduce its evil consequences by sober and tested methods_ . _There may be conscience, humanity and justice in both, and without them the glory of the United Republic is done. I want to go on, secure and unafraid, holding fast and confident of the supreme Republican fulfillment_.

After he had wrote the last word, he threw down his pen and rubbed his eyes, before finishing the contents of what was now his third glass of the shochu. Raiko may not have been the boy he once was, but soon enough he would be the man the world looked to; the voice of reason. He was sure of it.


	11. Tenzin IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tending to the election with Unalaq causes Tenzin to question many things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Candidates for Presidency**  
>  -Titarri, Bending Heritage Party of the United Republic  
> -Xar, Labor Party  
> -Raiko, First People’s National Party of the United Republic  
> -Pundarik, Natural Law Party of the Republic  
> -Bahira, Harmony Party  
> -Niu, Bloc Pohuai  
> -Zaccor, Green Party
> 
> * * *

 

> _“What will history say of this moment? Laws multiply in the land. Designs for the new government grow more and more idiotic and oppressive. Swarms of scoundrels are let loose to harass honest men. The liberties that the Fathers of the Republic gave to us are turned into mockeries. Of all of this, former Councilman Tenzin seems to be almost unaware, as he is apparently unaware of any art or science save spirituality. He has, to be sure, adverted to the subject in an occasional speech, but only in weasel snake words. What has he done about it? He has done absolutely nothing.”_
> 
> -Mongang, Republic City Sun

 

Tenzin woke before the sun. Had it not been for the faintest, purple glow at the horizon, he would have assumed that he simply woke in the middle of the night yet again. That had been happening more and more lately, so much so that he had formed the habit of leaving one of the shades in his bedroom open, allowing him to quickly orient himself with the time.

Pema had been kind enough not to complain, though she had little reason to do so. She had always been a heavy sleeper, at least as long as they had been together. He rolled onto his side to look at her now, only to find himself face to face with his five-year-old son staring back at him. “Morning, Dad!” he said, in a voice that could hardly be considered a whisper. Tenzin heard Pema let out a small groan.

Tenzin propped himself up on one elbow. “Meelo,” he said quietly, “Go to your own bed, and get more rest. You shouldn’t be awake now.” He glanced nervously to the corner of the room where Rohan’s crib sat. Meelo sharing their bed used to be bothersome, but tolerable. However, with him rapidly approaching six, as well as a baby to contend with, Tenzin was finding his presence increasingly trying.

“ _You’re_ awake,” Meelo pointed out, now dropping any effort to lower his volume.

“Listen to your father,” Pema’s sleepy voice commanded.

Meelo frowned, but scrambled towards the edge of the bed all the same. He landed a knee right in his father’s stomach on the way. Tenzin winced, but tried not to say anything. Meelo would just find that funny. “And I don’t just want you going to your room,” he cautioned in a whisper as his son wiggled onto the ground. “I want you under your covers with your head on your pillow. Understand?”

“Fine!” He padded noisily toward the door. Rohan let out a small gurgle as his brother passed, but once Meelo’s footsteps retreated down the hall, there was no more noise. Tenzin let himself exhale and sink back into his pillow. He hoped his son would fall back asleep, but for himself, he knew it was now an impossibility. His mind was already racing with thoughts of what he needed to accomplish for the day. _What if Unalaq doesn’t remember that we’re not meeting at City Hall? Izumi seemed adamant that we avoid the trial-crowds, at least until we’re through the first round of voting_.

Pema placed a hand on his chest. She had rolled over in the bed to face him, though her eyes were still half-shut. “You’re not going to go off to meditate already, are you?” she asked groggily.

He moved his own hand on top of hers and squeezed her fingers affectionately, though his mind seemed to be pulling him out of his bedroom unwillingly. “I’ll just keep you up if I don’t,” he said. He gave her forehead a kiss and was about to roll over and climb out of bed when she picked her head up suddenly.

“Tenzin, you should talk about it. You seem upset.”

“I just have an early meeting to visit a number of polling places, and then a Cabinet interview, and then—”

Pema gave him a kiss, cutting him off. For a second he considered taking her in his arms, but he soon thought better of it. When they broke apart, she gave him a small smile. “I didn’t mean about your schedule today.”

“It’s nothing new,” he said. Rohan gurgled once again and both he and Pema froze for a moment, until they heard the baby take a deep breath. Tenzin made sure to keep his voice a whisper. “I have to get this government set-up, and every step I take to do it draws criticism from one person or another. There’s nothing to be said or done.”

“You’re too hard on yourself. No one expects you to have all the answers.”

“But _someone_ needs to.” He sighed heavily and looked towards the window, where the sun had just become visible, adding a slight orange glow to the purple. “I’m sorry, you should get some more sleep.”

She shook her head slightly, but still lay back on her pillow. “Just consider taking the night off. The Republic won’t fall apart without you for a few hours.”

 _That will be impossible, at least until this first election has passed_ , he thought, though he kept it to himself. Instead, he gave her a small smile before folding back the covers and climbing of their bed.

He dressed himself as silently as he could, and barely allowed himself a breath when he tiptoed past Rohan’s crib. No one else was stirring in the dormitory yet; Tenzin was quite used to that. The outside air was brisk enough that he allowed himself a few warming breaths on his way to the meditation pavilion, but he could tell it was going to be a moderate day. He sat facing east, his back to the bay, the temple still eclipsing the sun.

His meditation proved a fruitless effort. Thoughts of the day before him continually sprang into his mind, whether it was worrying about potential problems that could arise at the polling locations, or wondering whether Izumi should be the one drafting the test for Assembly candidates, lest any reporters found out. In the end, he had to resort to an breathing technique normally taught to new acolytes first learning to meditate; on every inhale he would focus on the color green, and every exhale, blue. It didn’t allow him to empty his mind completely, but it was better than his racing thoughts.

After he felt enough time had passed, Tenzin unfolded his legs and pushed himself into a standing position. He could feel the exhaustion throughout his body. _Where was this feeling an hour ago, when I could have stayed in bed?_ he thought, frustrated.

He headed towards the dining hall. Though it was now starting to look like day time, it would be at least another good hour before Otaku and Huian would complete their newspaper run. The pair of acolytes were both on the younger side, yet quite enthusiastic. They had been volunteering for the early morning trips downtown for at least the past year, usually racing towards the boat once they were dressed. Still, _this_ early would be a stretch, even for them. In truth, Tenzin found that relieving; there always seemed to be news articles directed at him these days, whether it was some reporter blasting the election process, or calling the Tribunal’s  motives into question again. Just yesterday, there had been a column denouncing the “premature” creation of Cabinet positions, stating that it was a task that should have been left for the President.

Tenzin would have wanted to delay the appointments as well, but he, Unalaq, and Izumi were already stretched too thin, and General Guo couldn’t be counted on to govern. There had only been two appointments: a Minister of Foreign Affairs and a Minister of Finance. _The Republic still needs to function_. Izumi had been sure that it wouldn’t be enough to be considered a power grab, and yet with this press…

 _Yes, perhaps a break from the papers today is for the best_ , Tenzin thought, as he neared the building. Kaba would already be fussing in the kitchen, he knew, and Kaede and Guiren, the pair of White Lotus sentries normally tasked with the night shift, might still be eating their dinner before heading off to bed.

“Dad?” a voice sounded behind him.

Tenzin turned to see his eldest daughter on the pathway. “Jinora! Good morning.”

“I was just heading to the pavilion...you’ve already meditated?” she asked.

“Yes, yes I needed an early start today.”

She frowned slightly. “That’s really early.”

“I know. If Ikki or Meelo join you, you can lead them through breathing exercises?” he asked. It was more typical of them to sleep until breakfast, but every once in awhile they tried to join in on the morning sessions.

“Sure.” With that, she scurried up the path, leaving Tenzin to enter the dining hall.

He went into the kitchens first and found that he was right about Kaba already being awake. The elderly acolyte had a stockpot of buttermilk on the stove, and was carefully unrolling several sections of thin cloth onto the counter space next to it. “Master Tenzin!” he said, bowing. “There’s already a pot of tea in the dining room. Would you like me to make you porridge?”

“That’s quite alright,” Tenzin said, holding up a hand. “I’ll just help myself to some bread and cheese.”

He nodded and bent back over his task. “I’m making chura loenpa now, but we should have plenty of hard cheese.”

Tenzin fixed himself a small plate and took that, along with an empty mug, into the dining hall. He had assumed the pot of tea Kaba mentioned had been for Kaede and Guiren, but when he slid the door open, the room was completely deserted with the exception of Asami Sato. She sat with her back to the windows, several small stacks of paper scattered on the table in front of her. Her bowl of tsampa porridge was pushed to the side, looking quite untouched. She had been resting a head on her hand, but upon seeing Tenzin she jerked up straight. “Oh! Good morning.”

“Asami, good to see you,” he answered. He realized he had no choice but to sit across from her. “You’re up early,” he commented, reaching for the teapot once he had slid onto a cushion.

She hastily pulled some papers closer to her, trying to keep them off of Tenzin’s side. “Yes, I uh—I have a lot to do.”

“I can see that.” The silence seemed almost deafening as he allowed himself a small bite of bread. It wasn’t quite stale, though there was a hardness to it that was off-putting. “So,” he tried again, “What’s that you’re reading?”

Asami grimaced. “Inventory reports… Nothing too interesting.”

“It’s just impressive that you’re taking all of this on.”

“I suppose I had to,” she said, dropping her eyes.

“Yes, but I wasn’t exactly prepared when my...” He cleared his throat. “I mean, I doubt I’d understand a single word of that.” Comparing Aang to Hiroshi felt insensitive.

Fortunately, Asami hadn’t seemed to notice. “I’m sure you would,” she said with a small laugh. “It’s just locations and sums. I’m trying to see where there’s excess so I can reduce those amounts.”

“Well, I wish I could help. Will you be needing a ride downtown today? I’ll be leaving quite early, though I’m not heading to...to City Hall.” Tenzin dropped his own eyes at that.

It had been over two weeks since he found out that she was attending the Tribunal hearings, yet he still hadn’t brought himself to say anything directly about it. Even though both his brother and Izumi had insisted that it wasn’t their business, Tenzin still couldn’t help but feel responsible for Asami. Perhaps because no one else was. Still, it hardly seemed the moment to bring it up over breakfast. _But when?_ The Equalist sentencing had already begun, and Hiroshi’s ruling was likely to come soon.

Asami seemed unaware of his inner debate. “Thank you,” she said with a small smile, “but I was just planning on taking the boat. Korra’s heading downtown early today, so it will be sailing anyway.”

“Korra’s going downtown today?” Tenzin asked with a frown. The Avatar had only just successfully balanced on an air scooter for the first time last week and needed all the practice she could get.

“Yes, for Mako.”

“For Mako?!” he repeated.

“His badge ceremony. He becomes an official cop today.”

“That’s right.” Tenzin nearly laughed in relief. There were times he felt Korra was a bit too distracted by her boyfriend, but at least Mako was diligent about his job during the weekdays.

“Yes,” Asami continued, “It’s happening right when the station opens, she said. Though apparently Chief Beifong tried to talk her out of going? She told Korra that it was just going to be her reading some lines from a book.”

“Ah, well, Lin is not one for...pomp and circumstance.” He cleared his throat. “Well good. That’s good you’ll be supporting him.”

“Oh I’m not—” She suddenly stopped herself. “I mean, I have my own business to take care of.”

Their eyes met. Tenzin could almost see the wariness in her gaze. “Ah, well, perhaps we can have Mako and Bolin for dinner soon so that we can all celebrate.”

She smiled appreciatively at that, though soon looked back down towards her reports. _She’s too young for all of this_. There were times that Tenzin still couldn’t believe that Izumi had cautioned him against letting Asami stay on the island. They certainly had their differences, but it was the first time he ever questioned her compassion.

It hadn’t affected their working relationship, at least. With so much to accomplish, there was little time to dwell on the Fire Lord’s nature, and there was also no denying that she was an enormous help to the city. She knew when to worry about public image and when to push forward. At her urging, the Presidential Cabinet had become fully planned. And despite what the papers might say, the two ministers appointed gave himself, Izumi, and Unalaq the time they needed to tend to the election. Though there was _also_ no denying that she was quite practiced at dismissing others’ concerns.

Still, Tenzin could not exactly pretend to be relieved that he was working with only Unalaq today. He would have happily taken Izumi’s blunt ruthlessness over the Chief’s scorn. Unfortunately, Izumi was meeting with several professors at the university to help with the construction of the aptitude test for would-be Assembly candidates. General Guo, meanwhile, hadn’t shown up for a meeting in two weeks. That left Unalaq. He was at least willing to participate in conversations, but it often seemed as though he felt the whole thing was a colossal waste of time.

His arrival, twenty minutes after their agreed meeting time, did nothing to convince Tenzin otherwise. With the first day of voting just a week away, the two men were to spend the better part of the day stopping by various polling locations to verify that everything was running smoothly. Tenzin had just been about ready to fly Oogi to City Hall to search for him, when he heard the waterbender’s dispassionate tones. “Oh, there you are.”

Tenzin turned to see Unalaq climbing out of a luxury Cabbage Car that he had parked a good three feet from the curb. “I’ve been here for half an hour.”

“Well, I was meditating.” His glanced towards Oogi in disapproval. “You know how these things go, surely.”

“Of course,” Tenzin answered, trying to ignore the knot in his stomach. Even on days when he meditated successfully, he had never fully lost track of time. “We should go inside,” he said, gesturing.

Unalaq’s eyes fell on the school building just behind them. “Ah yes, the cornerstone of democracy,” he said, not bothering to hide his disdain.

Tenzin straightened his cape, not wishing to dignify him with a response. They entered the building together, but had taken no more than three steps inside when a plump woman rushed out from the front office to greet them.

“Councilman Tenzin!” she said breathily, bowing low. “I am Huiliang.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he answered. “This is Chief Unalaq of the Water Tribes.”

Huiliang’s bow deepened. “We are all just so humbled... Our school...”

Unalaq’s looked as though he were smelling something foul. “Please, there’s no need for all that.”

“Of course,” she said, her smile faltering.

Tenzin tried to keep his own. “We are eager to see where the voting will be held.”

“Yes, please, let me take you to our gymnasium.” They followed Huiliang deeper into the school, down a side hallway.

“There will be signs directing the voters?” he asked nervously as a small group of school children was led by. The schools were to be closed, but the last thing he needed was for one of them to get vandalized.

“Oh yes,” she answered. “Plus there’s a door around the side of the building that leads directly to the gym. We’re considering locking down the front doors altogether.”

“A fine idea,” Unalaq said.

They could hear muffled voices growing louder, and when Huiliang pushed open the door to the gym, Tenzin was greeted with a dizzying scene; just about every inch of the gym’s floor space was taken up, half with a series of tables around which numerous people were scurrying, boxes in hand. The other half contained what he took for the voting booths. There looked to be three rows of ten hastily built three-sided cardboard stalls, each with a curtain covering its opening. The space in between the rows were quite narrow, making the gym seem much smaller than it was. It was not helped by the fact that the wall paint gave the entire room a yellow tinge.

“Here,” Huiliung said proudly. “The tables up front,” she gestured to their right, “will be sorted by first name, so that people can quickly check in. Then each stall has a locked voting box, along with pens.” She led them over to the table closest to them. “Wait right here,” she instructed, before scurrying off.

Tenzin did his best to ignore the two old women seated at the table who were openly gaping at him. Unalaq appeared to be doing the same, his eyes surveying the scene with a look of revulsion. Fortunately for both of them, Huiliung returned shortly with a man nearly as ancient, who had an impressive white beard. “This is Dak-Ho,” she said; “he’s in charge of this voting site. I’m afraid I must get back to the office, but you are in good hands.”

The three men exchanged bows while she scurried off. “It’s an honor, Sirs,” Dak-Ho said.

“Yes, this is most...impressive,” Tenzin managed, forcing a small smile.

Unalaq’s scowl seemed to be deepening. “We’re here to ensure that the election will go smoothly. Can you tell us how it is you’re verifying each voter?

The old man nodded. “Certainly. We have lists of every resident of this voting district, as well as the three neighboring ones,” he said, gesturing towards the table. Tenzin’s eyes followed his hand to where several stacks of paper sat. Dak-Ho continued, “We also will have maps of the new districts, in case anyone is confused about where they should be. We’ve divided the list of people who should be voting here alphabetically, to keep the lines short. When someone comes in, they will provide their name, and we will check it off.”

“And how will you ensure that the people are telling you their actual names?” Unalaq asked.

“They’ll need to have gotten a voter card,” he answered. “It’s required for all citizens. Isn’t that why there are three days of voting?”

“Partially,” Tenzin confirmed. “We do want to make sure everyone has time to register.”

“Yes _that_ will go well,” the Chief said.

Dak-Ho nodded, apparently missing his sarcasm. “The political parties are helping hundreds of people get their IDs every day.”

Unalaq’s face remained impassive. “No doubt while extolling about the virtues of their candidates, I’m sure.” He waved a hand and looked towards the two old women, still seated and staring. “So these paragons of citizenship will verify everyone’s name as they come in. Then what? They are handed a ballot?”

“Yes,” Dak-Ho replied, furrowing his brow. He turned to the table once more and reached his hand into a box, where he drew out a small, thick card. He handed it to Tenzin. Listed in a single column was every candidate, as well as their political party. To the left of their names, there were open circles; to the right, small, square stickers, each of a different color.

“I assume each voter simply shades in one of these circles here?” he asked, handing the card to Unalaq.

“Yes, at the table inside each stall.”

“Why are there stickers?”

Dak-Ho smiled, causing his beard to swish about. “Ah, well, that is for those who cannot read,” he explained. “We are going to hang a key up along each of the walls.”

“If they can’t read, how will they understand the key?” Unalaq asked. He looked as though he were struggling not to roll his eyes.

“Well, anyone can request the key to be read at any point,” Dak-Ho replied “We will have workers all around, asking if anyone needs help.”

“That sounds very wise,” Tenzin offered.

Unalaq handed the card back to Dak-Ho. “Let’s just hope no one in the United Republic is both illiterate _and_ colorblind. If so, that red and green of Xar and Titarri may look quite similar. Though Bahira stands out with her blue.”

Dak-Ho frowned. “Perhaps for the second election we could switch to a pattern, but...”

“I’m sure I’m worrying for nothing,” he cut in, glancing in Tenzin’s direction. “After all, your father made sure the Republic had a good educational system, didn’t he?”

“It should be very few people affected,” he answered, trying to hide his annoyance. “Dak-Ho, what will happen once the votes are placed into the box?”

The old man looked relieved. “We have poll workers for both the days and the nights,” he explained. “After voting ends at sundown, the teams will switch, and the night crew will sort the ballots into wooden boxes for each candidate. These boxes are designed to hold one hundred each, so we should have a fairly accurate count of all the votes. They will bring up each full box to the main table, which I will be manning, and exchange it for an empty one.”

“It’s a good thing they caught that triad member who wanted to work the polls,” Unalaq pointed out. “Imagine such responsibility.”

 _Is he going to be like this at every stop?_ Tenzin already felt a headache setting in. He was suddenly aware of how uncomfortably warm the gymnasium was. “Dak-Ho, I want to thank you. This sounds quite efficient to me. Unfortunately, we have many polling locations to visit today. If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to tell a police officer. It will make it back to us.”

The old man bowed deeply again. “It was my pleasure. And thank you, Chief, for the advice.”

“That comes easily enough. Acting on it is the true test,” he replied.

“It will not be forgotten for the second round.”

Tenzin and Unalaq opted to exit through the side-door, so they wouldn’t have to walk back through the school. The air outside was so fresh compared to the gym that it almost hurt to breathe. “I think that went well,” Tenzin said, as they strode towards the street.

Unalaq made a face. “Did it? A colorblind voter may accidentally cast a ballot for Titarri, thinking she’s Xar.”

“It could be the other way around.”

“Xar’s the clear favorite; Titarri would have more to gain by the confusion,” he pointed out. “But even if we ignore that, where was the security? Who are these workers? Are _they_ even literate themselves? Those octogenarians were hardly confidence inspiring.”

“We have no reason to assume they can’t do the job,” Tenzin objected. “It seemed well-organized, and the fact that they were even trying to accommodate for voters who can’t read was very forward-thinking. We’ll be lucky if all the polling locations are like this one.”

Once they rounded the building, he headed towards Oogi, until Unalaq’s voice stopped him. “We’re taking that thing?”

He turned, angry. “We have quite a distance to go today, and Oogi is the fastest way to get there. Besides, Izumi didn’t want us running into any reporters, remember? The sky is the safest place.”

“Well, we can’t risk upsetting her, can we?” Unalaq replied coolly. Still, he climbed into Oogi’s saddle without further complaint.

The next stop was a library that had only six voting booths in its interior. These weren’t full stalls, but rather cardboard coverings on tables. They hadn’t considered how to help anyone illiterate, and when Tenzin asked, the only reply they received was, “Well if they can’t read who they’re voting for, why are they voting?”

The polling place after that required an additional form of identification aside from a voter card, to reduce fraud. “It could be anything,” the young, enthusiastic man who had been organizing ballot boxes told them. “A piece of mail, or a driver’s license...”

“There are many citizens who do not have even that much,” Tenzin had explained.

“It _is_ more secure,” Unalaq had argued, though Tenzin ignored him and instructed them to do away with that policy. Whether they listened was another story.

The fourth polling location was in one of the United Forces’ training facilities, and soldiers themselves had been tasked with its operation. As expected, it was well-organized, and Tenzin was relieved to hear that it would be officers counting the ballots.

“And how are _you_ planning to accommodate citizens who can’t read?” Unalaq asked the Second Lieutenant, who had given them a thorough tour.

“We will have soldiers stationed every five voting stalls,” she explained. “Any citizen requiring assistance for any reason will be allowed a soldier to enter the stall with them and cast a vote as they instruct.”

“You don’t see this as a violation of privacy?”

“All troops have been instructed by our General to keep everyone’s confidence. Disobeying this command will be treated as a serious offense.”

“Ah, you’ve been instructed by a prince of the Fire Nation,” Unalaq said. “I feel much better now.”

The Second Lieutenant looked quite offended, but Tenzin quickly pulled the Chief away, back to Oogi.

It wasn’t until the fifth polling location when Tenzin had to resort to muttering meditation mantras under his breath to keep from losing his patience altogether. There, Unalaq had taken it upon himself to explain for twenty minutes about the importance of proper locks on ballot boxes to a group of perplexed workers. The ones they had chosen were apparently too easily opened through waterbending.

They had nearly arrived at the next stop, a warehouse on the outskirts of one of the city’s denser residential districts, before Tenzin felt calm enough to address the Chief. “Unalaq, it’s nearly midday and we have at least ten more locations to visit. Tomorrow, we have to check in on the voter ID offices. We can’t afford these delays, especially when _any_ determined bender could find a way to break into a ballot box.”

“And that doesn’t give you pause?” Unalaq asked, as Oogi touched down.

Tenzin was spared the necessity of responding when he spotted a young woman in a suit rushing towards them. “Master Tenzin,” she said, “we’ve been expecting you.” She waited for Unalaq to climb off of the bison before bowing low. “And Chief Unalaq, it is a great honor.”

“And whose honor is it?” he asked with a smile that may as well have been a grimace.

She flushed. “I’m sorry, I’m Nujalik.” She bowed once again.

Unalaq raised his eyebrows. “Nujalik? You’re Water Tribe then? You don’t look it.”

“No...I suppose... My father’s from the Earth Kingdom,” she said apologetically.

“The beauty of the United Republic,” he answered flatly.

“Shall we go inside?” Tenzin asked impatiently, offering Nujalik a smile. She looked on the verge of tears.

Luckily, Unalaq found little to criticize once there. The warehouse proved an ideal location. There were a good forty individual voter stalls set up, and unlike the others, these were made of wood. There were also no individual ballot boxes inside each one. Voters would be expected to fill out their ballot in the stall, fold and seal it with provided stickers, and then walk their ballot to one of three centralized boxes, which would have many eyes on it.

“All citizens can request a poll worker to read them the ballot prior to entering the stall,” Nujalik explained. “Even those who can’t read should at least be able to remember the position of the candidate they want to support. We’re also waiting on special ballots that we ordered for blind citizens.”

“That’s wonderful,” Tenzin said, as she led them back towards the front of the room.

She stopped by a table and bent down to where a box sat underneath. When she stood upright again, she had a ballot in her hand. “They’ll look similar, but the writing will be raised,” she explained, laying it down on top of the table.

Tenzin’s smile faded as his eyes scanned the ballot. “This is...an unusual design.”

Unalaq dramatically leaned over towards the table and squinted. “That isn’t the adjective I’d use.”

“How do you mean?” Nujalik asked.

Tenzin chose his own words carefully. “Most ballots list the candidates in a single column,” he explained.

“Ah, well, having four candidates on one side and three on the other makes folding and sealing it easier,” she answered.

“But, there’s only one row of circles down the center for the voters to fill out.”

Nujalik nodded. “Yes, that’s why we staggered the names and drew arrows to the corresponding circles.”

Tenzin frowned, turning his head to see if that made things any clearer. “It just seems a tad confusing. See, someone who wants to vote for Xar,” he pointed to the second name in the left-hand column, “might think to fill out the second circle. But then they’d really be voting for...” he traced his hand to the list on the right.

“Titarri,” Unalaq answered for him, rising. He gave Tenzin a significant look.

“Nujalik!” a voice called from the other side of the room. She jerked up and looked across the room to see a middle-aged man waving his arms.

“Sorry, would you excuse me for a second?” she asked, before hurrying off.

“So,” Unalaq said, once they were out of earshot, “this is what? The fifth polling location that seems to be throwing votes at the firebender?”

Tenzin frowned. “I don’t think it’s quite that drastic.”

“Fine, we can pretend the Forces are impartial, if it makes you happy. Though wasn’t Titarri the candidate Izumi had mentioned liking? I wonder if Iroh is inclined to listen to Mom.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You disappoint me, Tenzin,” Unalaq said, dispassionately picking at the corner of the ballot still lying on the table. “I know you’re not exactly a cynical man, but I never took you for a blind one.”

“I can’t imagine what you mean,” he answered.

The Chief raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, I thought you were aware of the use Izumi has been making of this political upheaval...the use she’s been making of you.”

Tenzin felt his face growing hot. “She’s just doing what she thinks is best for the Republic.”

Unalaq let out a hollow laugh. “Aren’t we all? Though surely you’ve noticed how she’s been the one to get her way since we started this. It’s looking like the election is no exception.”

“I don’t see what you’re suggesting. No one’s getting their own way, we’re just trying to keep the Republic afloat. Besides, we _all_ agreed on the election procedures.”

“It’s the details, Tenzin, surely you’ve seen it. The commoners have a point about a ‘Fire Nation takeover.’”

“That’s absurd.”

“Is it?” Unalaq turned to squarely face him. “Have you not noticed that it’s the Fire Nation benefitting from the lion’s share of these decisions? Look at the Tribunal...it’s her man who’s leading the charge. The Cabinet? She’s the one who urged for the rushed appointment of a Minister of Foreign affairs. Can’t keep the Fire Nation waiting, can we? And this ridiculous aptitude test her people are crafting for the Assembly candidates...no doubt to weed out those who might not fully understand the Republic’s debt to her.”

His words made an uncomfortable amount of sense. Tenzin shook his head. “I do believe this is what she thinks is the best course for the city. And are you really telling me that you never consider the Water Tribe in your decisions?”

“I assure you, it is only my good conscience that guides me,” he answered with a smirk. “Still, your desire to defend her is...admirable. Old roots, I suppose. You two did grow up together, correct? The sister you never had?”

“I have a sister,” Tenzin snapped.

Unalaq looked at his fingernails. “Yes, the waterbender. I know all about the family drama.”

“We should leave,” he said, as firmly as he could. “It is ridiculous to imply that Izumi would interfere with this election simply because of a couple passing comments she made about Titarri's background.”

“And yet wasn’t that her reason for suggesting the Assembly in the first place? We need ‘qualified’ individuals in charge? Or are we still pretending that was your idea too.”

“That _was_ my idea too! Ask Lin!” Tenzin’s words seemed to echo. He looked around, suddenly panicking that Nujalik was coming back. Fortunately, she was still on the other side of the room, now surrounded by a handful of workers who seemed to be showing her something at one of the stalls. “We need to go,” he said more quietly. “There’s still many more polling places to visit. Perhaps we can see about printing new ballots for this one.”

Unalaq smirked, but then grabbed Tenzin’s shoulder. “Look. Whatever your reasons are to excuse Izumi, I won’t press. But need I remind you, I’m the only one here without an agenda.”

“What agenda do I have?” Tenzin snapped.

The Chief merely raised his eyebrows. “Why, the same as our noble Fire Lord’s; you need this election to exonerate your father.”


	12. Asami IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the first round of voting in Republic City! Asami navigates the excitement and casts her ballot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Candidates for Presidency**  
>  -Titarri, Bending Heritage Party of the United Republic  
> -Xar, Labor Party  
> -Raiko, First People’s National Party of the United Republic  
> -Pundarik, Natural Law Party of the Republic  
> -Bahira, Harmony Party  
> -Niu, Bloc Pohuai  
> -Zaccor, Green Party
> 
> * * *

 

> _"Hope, I believe, will linger long after the last reality has been squeezed from it, for men never abandon it without a hard struggle. When it is no longer supported by facts it will be supported by occasional miracles. Even today one sometimes hears of a railroad president who started as a fireman, or a coal operator who once mined coal. Moreover, the windows will remain open after the door is closed. Any plumber of today, when he loses hope of setting up a studio of his own, is free to become an osteopath, a bootlegger, or a labor leader. It is hard for a man with that possibility always before him to become class conscious"_.
> 
> -Mongang, _Republic City Sun_

 

It was a cold, grey morning, with a sky full of ominous clouds. The people of Republic City seemed to take no notice. The streets were alive and bustling with a frantic energy Asami could never recall having seen before. Though canvassers had become a common site for the last couple of months, today, they were out in droves. It was impossible to take five steps without being assaulted by someone armed with a pamphlet shouting their political opinions.

There was good reason; it seemed to Asami as though every single citizen of the city had chosen today to cast their vote. She, Tenzin, and Korra had flown in on Oogi, expecting to land the bison near Central City Station, one of the city’s largest polling locations. However, no sooner had they reached the mainland than it became obvious not only that there would be no safe place to keep him, but that there didn’t even look to be enough space for a landing. Tenzin had ended up leaving Oogi by the docks, in the care of a White Lotus sentry that had been manning Air Temple Island’s boat. From there, the trio had made their way slowly towards the center of town.

As soon as they came within three blocks of the station, the crowd had grown so thick that their journey nearly came to a standstill. They entered what looked to be the voting lines, but after inching along for a half an hour with no sign of progress, Asami found herself feeling almost feverish, even going as far as to consider leaving altogether.

Tenzin seemed to be sharing the anxiety. “This is why there are three days of voting,” he said in frustration, just after a woman carrying a baby nearly crashed to the ground in front of them due to being shoved. Had it not been for his fast reflexes, there may have been serious injury. Still, the woman left without so much as a ‘thank you.’ “Why did everyone turn out _today_?”

“They’re eager to vote,” Korra replied with a shrug, standing on her toes and craning her neck to see over the crowd. “Who wouldn’t be? Isn’t this exciting?”

Asami saw Tenzin’s frown deepen. “I think it is,” she offered. In truth, she was finding it difficult to muster true enthusiasm for any of the candidates, but she could hardly have said any different of the former Council. “It gives us a voice.”

“That’s the idea,” Tenzin said with a heavy sigh. His eyes suddenly widened. Asami turned in time to see a woman in a bowler hat approaching with a stack of papers. “No!” he shouted. “We don’t want to hear about your candidate! I don’t care who it is!”

“What I don’t understand,” Korra said, as the canvasser made a rude gesture and turned on her heel, “is why we’re voting at the station. Aren’t there polling places down at the docks that are much closer to the island?”

“Well, when we were drawing up the district maps, the island was excluded,” he answered. “Technically Air Temple Island is part of the Air Nation, not Republic City.”

“So then why are you able to vote?” Asami asked.

“Well, with the Air Nation in the state it’s in... It’s complicated. It’s the Fire Nation’s reparations that pay for us, but yet we’re also intimately involved with the United Republic.” Tenzin shook his head. “Legally speaking, Pema, the acolytes, and myself are all dual citizens. _This_ is the government that affects us, so we get a vote of our own.”

Korra screwed up her face. “That doesn’t make much sense. What about the acolytes at the other temples?”

“We haven’t considered them for this election!”

Asami could hear the frustration in his voice. “So, because you’re not living in a voting district, they picked the central location for everyone on the island?”

He nodded. “Yes. Given the...political importance of our residents, we felt it made sense.”

Korra clasped her hands behind her head and sighed. “Well, I’d rather it make less sense, but I get to cast my ballot sometime before midnight.”

“You’re not casting a ballot,” Tenzin said, alarmed.

“What?”

“I’m sorry Korra, I thought you knew.”

“No,” she said, frowning. “Because I’m Water Tribe? _I_ don’t have dual citizenship?”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re the Avatar, you’re of all the nations. But for that reason, having a direct say in any government would be a conflict of interest. Though of course you may offer your guidance to any world leader.”

“That’s not fair!” she objected, shrugging him off. Asami agreed, but she owed Tenzin too much to say so. Instead she tried to offer Korra a sympathetic smile, but the Avatar’s eyes were fixed on Tenzin. “What am I even doing here today then? I could be, I don’t know, training with Bolin or something. Anything.”

“Korra, I am sorry. I thought you had been told,” he said. “But, it’s important that people have faith in this political process—that the first election goes smoothly. There are sure to be reporters and cameras near the entrance to the station. And having you here...having the Avatar watching this... It will encourage everyone.” He awkwardly brought his hands together. “Or at least, Izumi seemed to feel strongly about it.”

“She felt strongly that I stand unnecessarily in a line for hours?” Korra shot back, though Asami could hear her voice softening.

Suddenly, it hit her. “Wait, _I_ shouldn’t be in this line,” Asami said. _How could I have been so stupid?_

“What?” Tenzin asked, alarmed. “Of course you should. You’re over seventeen and have been a citizen of the United Republic your entire life.”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” she answered. She could feel Korra’s eyes on her as well. “I never changed my residence to the island. I didn’t know... I didn’t think..." Asami cleared her throat. “My polling location is going to be near the estate.”

He gave a nod. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I should have thought of that too. Getting over there might be a challenge.”

“Nothing will be a challenge under a President Raiko!” someone shouted, causing the three of them to jump. She whirled around to see a man holding a sign emblazoned with the words ‘ _our good fortune and our eminence are dependent on the normal forward stride_ ,’ a snippet from the PNP candidate’s speech that somehow assaulted Asami every time she had dared to turn on the radio for the past two weeks. For her own part, she had found it frustrating how few specifics Raiko offered, but it had given him a solid bump in the polls, nonetheless.

Only Mongang, the Republic City Sun’s infamous columnist, seemed able to offer criticism, calling the speech “rumble and bumble,” “flap and doodle,” and “balder and dash.” However, he demonstrated a similar scorn for every other candidate, so it was hardly helpful commentary. The _Jasmine Street Business Journal_ , on the other hand, spoke nothing but fondly of Raiko’s words and positions, just like the bankers Asami met with had. The “safer choice,” they had called him. _I need to think like a businessman_. Yet it was just the first election. She could allow herself to vote with her heart for the first election.

“No president is going to fix our traffic problems!” Tenzin was shouting. Asami shook her head and looked in time to see him shove the canvasser back towards the crowd. Korra started to laugh, but he silenced her with a look before turning back towards Asami. “What were we saying? You’ll need a ride, won’t you?”

“Don’t worry about it, my car isn’t parked far from here,” she lied. She had left it only a few blocks from the docks, but she welcomed the walk after barely moving for so long. Besides, mentioning its true location was likely to give Tenzin a stroke. “I just don’t know exactly where I’m going _to_ vote.”

“Leave the line and see if you can find a polling worker or a police officer. There should be plenty near the entrance to the station,” Tenzin instructed. “They’ll be able to help you.”

“Can I leave the line too?” Korra asked. “If you just need me to smile for a camera, I might as well head up there now.”

Tenzin furrowed his brow. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t want reporters asking you questions unless I’m around.”

“I can handle it!”

“Korra, remember how the last time went?”

She looked as though she wanted to object. “I should go,” Asami said, awkwardly. She never knew what to do when Tenzin tried to discipline Korra. He was Korra’s guardian, Asami supposed, yet he never so much as made a comment about her own whereabouts, despite her living under the same roof as the Avatar. _I’m not his responsibility_.

“Yes, we’ll see you back on the island tonight,” Tenzin said.

“If we ever get out of here,” Korra added, sullenly.

Getting to the entrance of the station proved to be no simple task. Asami had to wind her way through crowds of people, occasionally being yelled out for cutting in line, until she finally made such a wide berth of the scene that it took her another ten minutes to work her way back. Finally, she spotted a handful of individuals in United Forces outfits. Some were sitting at tables, surrounded by people yelling. Others were standing, monitoring the lines.

Asami was about to approach a genial looking soldier standing on the edge of the bottom step leading up to the station, when a voice calling her name stopped her. She turned to see General Iroh walking towards her. “Oh! Hi,” she said, surprised.

“I thought it was you,” he said, though his smile quickly faded as he looked beyond her. She followed his gaze to two approaching reporters. “Come on.” Iroh gently grabbed her arm and pulled her around the side of the entryway. “They’ve been hounding me all morning, as if I have nothing better to do.”

“Anything to get those headlines,” she answered, suddenly feeling breathless.

He laughed and let go of her. “I suppose that’s one way. But I’m glad you’re here! I haven’t seen you since..." He suddenly stopped himself.

 _Since I handed my father over to you_ , she finished in her head. Asami felt the heat rushing to her face as she recalled it: the obscenities her father had hurled at the General, the way she had burst into tears and fled without so much as a ‘goodbye.’ She lowered her eyes. “Iroh, I actually wanted to—I mean, I meant to—to say ‘sorry’ for that day. For everything my father did, and how I...left.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Trust me, dealing with parents is difficult, even when you agree with them.” She looked back up to see the faintest trace of a smile in his golden eyes.

“Well, if I can’t say that I’m sorry, then let me at least thank you for taking care of everything,” she said, suddenly aware of how little space was in between them. “That Equalist fleet, especially.”

His face broke into a true smile at that. “And see, you should be yelling at me for that, I’d think. For destroying your wares. You’re running Future Industries now, aren’t you?”

 _If that’s what you can call it_. “My father signed it over to me,” she confirmed.

“That’s great! I’m sure you’re up to the task.”

Asami forced herself not to look away again. The truth was, despite committing herself to the company a month ago when she had refused to be bought out, she still felt as though she had no idea of what she was supposed to be doing at any given moment. “It’s...keeping me on my toes.”

“Well, you certainly have at least one prospective customer here,” Iroh said, oblivious. “Once the election dies down, I’m thinking about getting myself a Satomobile. Something for the off-hours. I’ve always wanted one.” He brought his hand to his chin in ironic contemplation.

Asami laughed. “If you want a test drive, I’d be happy to see to it personally.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Iroh brought his hand back down, and for a horrible moment neither one of them spoke. “I only mean,” she quickly added, “I know a lot about the different models.” _What is wrong with me?_ The impulse seemed so stupid now, but it had just been so long since anyone had been able to make her laugh, especially about her company.

“I’ll remember that, Kiddo,” he said. “Though I may be putting the cart before the ostrich horse. Depending on how the election goes, I could be out of a job.”

“You think?” she asked, ignoring the heat that had rushed to her face. _Kiddo._ “Surely no one would do that. You practically saved the city.”

Iroh frowned. “After losing most of my fleet. I don’t know, have you heard the way Bahira talks about the Fire Nation?”

“But she won’t win. I doubt she’ll even make it through this round.” The Harmony Party candidate was almost brazenly running on a platform identical to the Equalists, though fortunately, had gained little traction. Even if the same frustrations were there, most people in the city seemed unwilling to support such an aggressive choice, especially when there were several other nonbenders in the running.

“Hopefully not,” he answered, before suddenly taking a step back. “I just remembered—I’m not supposed to talk about politics.”

“At all?”

“My mother...I mean, the Fire Lord, was insistent that all soldiers working the polls keep their opinions to themselves. She mentioned something about ‘undue persuasion.’”

She smiled. “Well, I promise you haven’t changed my vote.” She had settled on Zaccor after the debates, though she knew it was likely a waste; any gains he had made in the polls had all but evaporated since it was exposed in the papers a week ago that he had made poor financial investments in the past. Most articles on the matter said something to the effect of, ‘ _if he can’t balance his own budget, how can we trust him to balance the Republic’s?_ ’ It was a ridiculous oversimplification, but one that was proving effective. Still, Asami couldn’t see herself voting for any of the other candidates. At least Zaccor seemed intelligent.

The relief on Iroh’s face was plain. “Good. And if anyone asks, we were conversing as friends, not as a poll worker and civilian.”

“I was under that impression anyway,” she replied. “Though I _do_ need to officially talk to someone. I’m not quite sure where my polling place is.”

Iroh led her over to another United Forces officer, and took his leave. When Asami pointed out her house on the map, the soldier raised her eyebrows, but directed Asami to a general post office a few miles from the estate. It took her nearly three-quarters of an hour to make her way back to the waterside district, and by the time she had driven to the polling location, her stomach was growling as a reminder that she had yet again, skipped lunch.

 _At least I’ll have missed the crowd of workers who came here during their break_ , she thought bitterly. Voting was not supposed to have taken this long. Asami had intended to be back at her office by now, reviewing dealership reports. In a desperate attempt to generate capital for Future Industries, she had turned towards her excess inventory, where she had at least one hundred and twenty million yuan's worth between her products and spare parts. She had hoped that transferring some of the Satomobiles to her dealerships, that were instructed to pay in cash for the vehicles, would at least produce enough money to take care of her company’s ninety million owed in financial obligations.

It was a false cash-flow—a bandage for a wound that required a healer—but if it could keep her company afloat and buy her time, it would be well worth it. Though time to do what, she could not have said. She could hardly invest in new technology, and though a prince of the Fire Nation might not care about her company’s image, it would take a lot more time before anyone else was willing to come around. _And why should they, without any new technology?_ It was as though Future Industries was trapped in a whirlpool, and Asami was getting sucked down the middle.

Her one shred of hope was that it wouldn’t be long before her father’s trial was over. Surely once he was sentenced, the people would move on, especially if its harshness matched that of the two Equalists’ whose trials had already concluded. _We’ll all have to move on_.

Still, as desperate as she was to put it behind her, she couldn’t feign the relief that had accompanied Judge Hotah’s recent announcement: the Tribunal was to take a week-long recess, so as not to interfere with the election. As a result, the past three days were Asami’s first outside of the courtroom since the trials had begun. The extra time had hardly allowed her to wrap her head around the needs of her company any better, but she found the stress of struggling to understand quarterly financial reports nothing compared the emotional turmoil of the trials.

Still, she found it hard to put them from her mind completely. _It will all be over soon_.

No sooner had she climbed out of her car than a light drizzle had begun. Fortunately, the tables set up in the front of the post office were underneath tents. There was no line, though a good twenty people were taking shelter beneath the canvas. Asami supposed that was normal; her father’s estate was situated in a less-populated area of the city. Outside the tents, there was a small handful of canvassers, but they barely paid her any mind, no doubt still recovering from the lunch crowd.

She spotted a free polling worker sitting at one of the tables and approached him. He took her driver’s license and nodded, drawing a sheet of paper out of the box. “Great, Miss Sato. We just need you to fill this out, and then we’ll get you a ballot.” He pulled a short pencil out of a second box and handed it to her.

Asami scanned the document. The top few lines asked basic information: name, birthdate, address. However, from there, it turned into a series of bizarre and commands and questions. “Draw a triangle with a blackened circle that overlaps only in its left corner,” she read, raising an eyebrow at the worker. He nodded but said nothing. She continued, “Write every other word in the first line, and print every third word in the same line... What is this?”

The man gave a half-shrug. “Just a basic literacy test.”

“Why?”

“Because we can’t have people voting if they don’t know who they’re voting for,” he answered, as though it were obvious.

Asami looked back at the paper. “But the questions seem to be worded to be intentionally confusing. And look...down here,” she said, laying it onto the table and pointing with her pencil. “These aren’t literacy questions at all; they’re civic questions. ‘How many seats were on the Council?’ ‘True or false: can a defendant be brought to trial for the same cause once a verdict is reached?’”

“Ma’am,” he said, sounding impatient, “these are basic questions any voting citizen should know.”

“What about this one? ‘Appropriation of money for the armed services can be only for a period limited to how many years?’” She glared down at the man, though his face remained impassive.

“You only need to get most of them right,” he answered.

“That’s hardly the point; this shouldn’t be given out at all.” She felt a few heads turn on either side of her.

“What do you mean? You want people voting who can’t read?” the worker asked scornfully.

Asami stopped herself from balling her fist. “I’d just as soon trust the people to learn what their candidate’s name looks like than prevent someone from voting who didn’t get the chance to attend a school.” The man simply stared at her. “Besides,” she tried again after a moment, “I was down at Central City Station today, and they don’t have literacy tests there. It should be the same.”

He sighed. “Ma’am, I don’t make the rules. I’ve been instructed not to give a ballot to anyone who doesn’t complete this, or who fails it. Please, fill yours out.”

“Has anyone failed?”

“I’m not at liberty to say,” he answered.

Asami wanted to argue more, but the cold stare he was fixing her with told her there was little point in it. _He wouldn’t be able to change this anyway, even if he did agree_ , she thought, as she worked her way through the questions. _Though maybe Tenzin can_. She knew it would be the last thing he wanted to deal with, but it wasn’t right. If she told him at dinner, then perhaps the next two days of voting could be test-free. Though admittedly, voters in her district were more likely to be educated than anywhere else in the city.

The worker looked over her answers, and once or twice Asami wondered if he would fail her out of spite. However, he handed her a ballot and instructed her to head into one of the voting booths within the post office. She made her way inside, where there were several cardboard booths with a curtain drawn over one edge. Inside sat a ballot box and a small table full of pens. She carefully marked her ballot for Zaccor, before folding and slipping it into the box. She had expected to feel some sort of excitement, but instead, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had wasted most of her day simply to vote for a candidate unlikely to make it to the next round.

Asami had half a mind to find Tenzin right then and let him know about her district’s test, but the last thing she wanted to do was head back towards the station’s crowd. Instead, she drove straight to Future Industries, being sure to take the bridge furthest away from downtown. The rain was falling more steadily when she reached the building, so she parked her car within the warehouse, in between a mecha tank and an out-of-commission biplane. Since production had been heavily slowed, there was plenty of extra room these days.

She climbed out and was relieved to find that the area was empty. Her head was pounding, and she was in no mood to don a fake smile and talk to her employees, all while trying to ignore the worry in their eyes. She wondered how many workers she would pass on her way to her office. _With any luck, most will be caught up in polling lines_. Still, the dealership reports waiting on her desk were no more tantalizing than the prospect of running into one of her branch managers.

For a mad second, Asami considered getting back in her car and driving away, like she had done after first inheriting the company. _No. I had my chance to leave this_ , she told herself, suddenly angry. _It’s just looking over sales numbers. You can at least manage that_. Yet no matter how many reports Asami had forced herself to read over the past month, no answer of how to proceed ever jumped out at her. And each day, her company’s future became less and less promising.

 _It’s the trials. They need to end for things to settle down_. If her father was given a sentence, it would show the public that he had no hand in Future Industries anymore. Surely that would help. And if he was acquitted...

 _If he’s acquitted, then he’ll probably know how to fix this_. The thought filled her with a revulsion so strong that she slammed her fist into the body of the biplane. The aluminum reverberated, and the front panel dropped open on one side, exposing the engine’s coolant tank. Normally, it would have been filled with water, kept cold during a flight from the air stream, which allowed it to in turn, cool the engine through a radiator system. It was effective, yet it added a lot of weight to the craft.

Asami stepped closer to examine the mechanism. “What if there was a way that the air could cool the engine directly?” she asked the empty room. That could increase the power-to-weight ratio significantly, allowing for longer and faster flights. If it worked well, there would even be potential to produce bigger planes, ones that could rival airships.

She spotted a toolbox near the opposite wall. Perhaps she wasn’t the best at managing inventory, but there was no question that Asami was meant to run Future Industries. She had to be.


	13. Raiko IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The results of the first election are in, and Raiko's through to the next round! It's a night to celebrate for the PNP, though not everyone is equally enthused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **Original Characters**  
>  -Kushala, Raiko's campaign manager  
> -Rovrik, the Chairman of the PNP  
> -Juro, Rovrik's partner  
> -Rong, an oil tycoon and founder of the PNP  
> -Shia, a PNP staffer  
> -Sasros, the PNP Director of Communications  
> -Hema, a PNP staffer working closely with Sasros  
> -Choden, the PNP Director of Scheduling  
> -Mai, a PNP staffer  
> -Jian, a PNP staffer  
> -Tala, a woman from Raiko's past  
>  **Candidates for Presidency**  
>  -Titarri, Bending Heritage Party of the United Republic  
> -Xar, Labor Party  
> -Raiko, First People’s National Party of the United Republic (PNP)  
> -Pundarik, Natural Law Party of the Republic  
> -Bahira, Harmony Party  
> -Niu, Bloc Pohuai  
> -Zaccor, Green Party
> 
> * * *

> _ Raiko has the very rare virtue (in this political arena) of being relatively honest—of being almost as honest, in fact, as the average porch-climber, detective or seller of Gaoling Ore stock. He pulls the noses of the plain people in little ways, for they like to have their noses pulled, but when it comes to the capital issues he exposes himself altogether. He does not pretend falsely to be a progressive when everyone knows he is not. He does not say one thing to the benders and another to the Harmonists. He does not fill the air with a babble about brummagem ideals that he doesn't believe in, and is secretly prepared to drop down the nearest sewer. _
> 
> -Mongang,  _ Republic City Sun _

 

“This is a night to celebrate.” Raiko lifted his glass of champagne in the air and waited for the room to follow suit. He was standing in the center of the bullpen. Several of his staffers had pulled up their chairs, sitting only a few feet away in a semi-circle. The rest crowded in behind them, with friends and family of his workers standing towards the edge the room. It was easy for him to spot the few reporters in the group, each one either bouncing onto their toes or jostling for a better position.

Kushala had wanted him to stand on a table for his speech, to give everyone a clearer view. Yet he refused; no dignified man would do such a thing. Let the reporters grow frustrated; tonight was not for them. It was for Raiko and his team—for his triumph.

“I’m not the only one who’s saying this right now, I realize. I’m sure the atmosphere over at the BHP headquarters is just as enthusiastic,” he said, purposely twitching the corners of his mouth. There were several titters in answer. Though the Bending Heritage Party would no doubt tout Titarri clinching third place with sixteen percent of the votes, out-performing her average, she was still a full nine points behind Raiko, the largest gap between them in a month. Even better, he could not see any of the fallen candidate’s supporters rallying behind a bender.

“No, no,” he continued, good-humoredly, “we’ll let her have her little fun tonight. But there’s no denying that the Labor Party will be raising their toasts to Xar.” A few people booed, though Raiko calmly brought his glass back down and raised his other hand. “Now, credit where credit is due: Xar came in first in tonight’s election. But it would be a mistake to call this a ‘win.’ For the first time since the debate, he has fallen below forty percent of the national vote. And he’s going to keep falling if I have anything to say about it!”

Raiko stopped himself from taking a casual sip of the champagne as he waited for the cheers to die. “Tonight showed us the direction of things to come, and I couldn’t have achieved it without such a fine staff behind me.” He made sure to smile in Rong’s direction; if there was one man to continually impress, it was the PNP’s founder. “If you promise me another six weeks of dedication, I promise you a presidency!”

The room broke into applause again.  _ It’s a shame this is a closed event; the public would surely take to my confidence as they have been doing _ . His eyes found one of the reporters in the room, furiously taking notes. “I don’t make promises I can’t meet. The truth is, I have never been surer of a PNP victory than I am tonight. Zaccor’s voters came from a divide in the Labor Party; from individuals who cannot bring themselves to support Xar; Niu’s voters want independence for Pohai, and I’m the only candidate on the stage with any understanding of the area; Pundarik’s voters are concerned with spiritualism, and I am the one arguing for a time of healing in our country—Xar and Titarri are far too reactionary to appeal to that crowd. As for Titarri, she has mustered all the votes she could, and still finds herself woefully behind. Benders will abandon her, and they will not find any friend in Xar.”

He paused, hoping someone would point out the obvious. A staffer towards the back of the room obliged. “What about Bahira?”

Raiko smiled to himself. “Xar can have each and every one of Bahira’s voters, and still find himself in the minority. We don’t need them or want them; the PNP can do better than poorly disguised Equalists. Besides, Xar doesn’t know what’s coming for him in our next debate.” The appreciate laughter was lesser than he had hoped, so he quickly continued on. “You may not know this, but for our first debate, Kushala advised me to hold back.” One or two individuals booed. “No, she was right. I have the finest campaign manager there is, and she knew better than to let me show all my cards at once.” It pained him to say it, but half the hires in the room were her doing, and she was well-loved by the PNP leadership. He didn’t bother searching for her face in the crowd, and instead focused on a different reporter.

“You see,” he continued concentrating on keeping the disdain out of his voice, “I let the others bloody each other. For our current needs are not agitation, but—”

“Adjustment!” the room cried out. Buttercup’s voice rang the clearest, but he could hear both Sasros and Rong as well.

Raiko felt himself grinning. “Exactly. Xar is too reactive for the people, and he won’t have Bahira’s extreme stances to hide behind anymore. When I lean into his policies, he’ll be exposed for what he is. As for Titarri...” There was a smattering of malicious chuckles. “Well, let’s just say a nice grin and pretty hair don’t make up for a lack of substance.”

“She  _ does _ have nice hair,” he heard Sasros say sardonically to more appreciative laughter.

He waited until the room quieted once more. “There is going to be no question that when I take the stage, it will be a decisive victory, not just for me, but for the whole of the PNP, for we have some Assembly seats to win now, don’t we?”

“You can say that again!” Rong called. Many began clapping in response.

_ They’re koala sheep, the lot of them _ . “The Labor Party have been trying to sell us on the idea that they’re the ‘people’s party.’ That Xar is ‘inevitable.’ What a campaign slogan  _ that _ is, isn’t it?” Raiko barely paused to allow a laugh. “It’s true that they have more members. But you cannot replace quality with quantity, and we have the best campaign staff there is! I would trust each and every one of you with my life.”

“Here here!” shouted a man Raiko vaguely recalled seeing Choden talking to once.

He continued, annoyed that the rhythm of his conclusion was now thrown off. “For that reason, I don’t care who else is raising their glass right now.” As if to emphasize his point, he lifted his own once more. “Tonight was  _ our _ victory, as it will be in six weeks after the next election. To the presidency!” 

His last sentence was nearly swallowed by the cheer, but it hardly mattered. The excitement in the room was palpable, and Raiko knew every word he had spoken was true. It was tonight the papers would look back on as “the turning point”; Raiko was sure of it. And more importantly, it was tonight the focus would turn towards donors and ads. The PNP would need to put its money where its mouth was, but if Rong’s mouth was to be believed, there was little cause to fear.

It was Rong himself that Raiko meant to talk to first, but he was swarmed with campaign workers. No one below the rank of “manager” dared approach him first, but even still there was a dizzying amount of directors and executive secretaries and chairpersons or something or other. Buttercup was working the room as well. When Raiko finally found a moment to catch his breath, he spotted her at the opposite end of the bullpen, laughing and straightening Sasros’s tie. A smaller man might be jealous, but Raiko knew that her devotion to him was unwavering.

He had just accepted a fresh glass of champagne from one of the caterers when a quiet voice called his name. He turned to see the PNP’s National Chairman standing before him, along with a taller man with slightly unkempt hair and a beard. Though most men were taller in comparison. 

“Rovrik,” he answered, taking his arm. 

“A fine speech, though I grew quite thirsty by the end.” As if to emphasize his point, Rovrik took a small sip from his own glass before continuing. “I’m sorry...I believe I’ve mentioned him, but I don’t think you’ve formally met my partner, Juro,” he said, gesturing.

Raiko forced himself not to frown. He couldn’t quite remember what Rovrik’s owned business was, but based on his connection to Rong, he had assumed it had to do with the oil industry. The clothes Juro wore and the way he carried himself reminded Raiko much more of an artist than a working professional, and this was not the sort of man he had envisioned as Rovrik’s business partner. “A pleasure,” he managed, shaking his hand.  _ Perhaps he comes from money and got them started _ .

Juro smiled pleasantly. “So, you’re the man who’s been keeping Rovrik away.”

“Guilty, I’m afraid. I hope it hasn’t been too difficult for you.”

“I’m used to it,” he replied waving his hand. “Though you are missed,” he said, turning towards Rovrik, who offered a small smile back.

“Well, I understand why,” Raiko said. Juro’s smile faltered slightly and Rovrik furrowed his brow. “If there’s a harder worker out there, I have yet to meet him,” he added.  _ Do they not realize I’m paying them a compliment? _

“Oh...yes,” Juro answered slowly, “I’ve certainly always admired that about him.”

“Then I hope you won’t begrudge me the next six weeks,” Rovrik said, looking back and forth between the two men. “Raiko and I will certainly have some work to do.”

Juro laughed. “Oh, I knew you’d be in this for the long-haul.” He turned to face Raiko again. “Rovrik is not one to pick a losing side.”

“An exaggeration, to be sure,” the Chairman said coolly. “Juro was spared from some of my earlier missteps. I’m sure you can relate; no one enters this world a perfect businessman, after all.”

_ I single-handedly turned my paper around and never looked back _ , Raiko thought. “Perhaps,” he answered, “though I’m sure finding the perfect partner can make all the difference.”

Rovrik narrowed his eyes, but before he could say anything, they were interrupted by Kushala. She lay a hand on Raiko’s shoulder. “I came over to thank you for your kind words,” she said evenly. Her touch was gentle enough, but Raiko found himself wanting to flinch away. Fortunately, she let go quickly to greet Juro with a kiss on both cheeks. “It’s wonderful to see you, as always.”  _ Why should they know each other? _

“Kushala, you look stunning tonight,” he answered. It was difficult to disagree, Raiko had to admit. She wore a red dress that clung to her form, which was normally hidden away by her vests. Her hair was down for a change, too, silky and draped over one shoulder. 

He could practically see the hunger in Rovrik’s eyes as he smiled at her. “Yes, well, no compliment paid to you is ever undue. Isn’t that right, Raiko?”

“The debate strategy should prove effective,” he conceded, forcing a smile in his campaign manager’s direction. “Though part of me wonders if I had been more aggressive, would my gains tonight have been even bigger?”

“Not agitation, but adjustment, Raiko,” she answered, with an irritating wink. She paused to steal a sip of her champagne. “I think your image is exactly what we want, moving forward.”

He gritted his teeth. “It’s not my image; that’s who I am.”

“A reasoned man,” Rovrik said softly. “I quite agree. It is a quality that campaign donors will look for, I have no doubt. As it is, Kushala and I have been working on an extensive list of—”

“There’s the man of the hour!” a voice boomed. The four of them turned to see Rong’s large form coming towards them. He was pleased to see a flash of nerves on Kushala’s face.

The PNP founder greeted Raiko with a firm handshake and a pat on the back. “I knew we had a winner from the start,” he said, grinning.

“You’re too kind.”

“Kushala, delightful as always,” he continued, pulling her towards him and planting a kiss on her cheek. He merely nodded in Rovrik’s direction, though Raiko had seen the two men talking earlier. When his eyes fell on Juro, his smile faltered slightly. “Ah yes, and Juro. Thrilled you could be here tonight.”

“It’s an honor,” he said, inclining his head. Rovrik touched Juro’s forearm for a moment, as if to restrain him, though he had made no movement himself.

“So, are we talking about how Raiko is the man to lead the PNP to a sweep of the Assembly?” Rong asked cheerfully.

“A sweep would be ambitious,” Kushala answered. “But we may be able to secure the endorsement of Pundarik and Niu, which would help matters.” The Bloc Pohai candidate had barely earned one percent of the votes, but the Natural Law Party’s platform had appealed to nearly one tenth of the Republic. 

“And Bahira’s inevitable endorsement of Xar should do him more harm than good,” Rovrik added.

“Excellent, excellent,” Rong said. “We have fine candidates up in each district. They’ll be taking this ridiculous aptitude test over the course of the next week, but I have no fear. And with Raiko here spearheading the charge, I am confident we may even earn ourselves the most seats of anyone.”

“That’s certainly attainable,” Kushala said. “Though of course, no party can take a majority of the seats.”

“If a PNP candidate wins in  _ every _ district that would give you half,” Juro said playfully.

Rovrik nodded. “Yes, well, there’s no mistaking that the world leaders are far from keen on any one party having too much power.”

“I suppose being a monarch makes you immune to irony,” Raiko said. The group laughed. Both the Chief of the Water Tribes and the Fire Lord had the final say in their own Nations, though everyone knew it was the latter who was directing the course of the United Republic’s government. It enraged him to see it: the way she carried herself, as if she knew she was superior...the way she allowed her troops to patrol the city without a second thought...even the way her son commanded the Forces, though Raiko admitted there was little to be done about that.  _ When I’m President, I will make sure the United Republic can stand on its own _ . 

“You’ll need to watch that wit at the debate,” Rong said with a laugh. 

He was about to answer when Kushala cut in. “Don’t worry, I have him well-trained to keep a balanced stance about the Fire Nation.”

Raiko did his best not to frown. “Training I hardly need. My success has been built on tempered stances.”

“Indeed it has,” Rong said. Juro looked towards Rovrik, as if he was having trouble keeping up with the conversation, but his glass was firmly to his lips for another swallow of champagne. 

Kushala met Raiko’s eyes, and for a moment he saw a flash of amusement that made his stomach turn. Yet her expression soon changed as she noticed something beyond him. “No... Why is that reporter talking to Jakiw? I need Sasros. Would you gentlemen excuse me?” She left without waiting for an answer.

“She’s really something, isn’t she?” Rong said jovially.

“Certainly,” Rovrik answered. “Tonight is almost as much her victory, as Raiko’s. Wouldn’t you agree?”

_ Not in the slightest _ , he thought angrily. If it had been up to Kushala, he wouldn’t have delivered his now famous speech that had turned the tide of the election and earned him a quarter of the votes. He could feel the men looking at him. “Her continual...challenges, have certainly kept me on my toes,” he managed, taking another sip of champagne to hide any reaction.

“That sounds like my mentor,” Juro said, nodding. Raiko had no idea to what he could possibly be referring, but Rong’s voice interrupted the thought.

“Well, she certainly came highly recommended. I’m glad to see it’s paying off.”

Raiko forced his face into a smile. Rovrik looked away for a moment before saying, “Would you gentlemen excuse me? I just remembered I needed to run something by Choden before he leaves.”

“Another one worth his salt,” Rong said once the Chairman was out of earshot. “Though of course we both know better than to say otherwise in front of Juro, eh, Raiko?”

“I don’t see why we would,” he answered. 

Juro gave a smile, though looked oddly uncomfortable. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“Anyway, Raiko,” Rong turned to face him, “now that the first election has past, it’s  _ my _ time to shine. I’ve got a few deep-pocketed colleagues who will do anything to see Xar and his corporate taxes out of office.”

Raiko nodded. “I’m glad to hear of it. For a banker, Xar has little understanding of how the economy actually works.”

Rong let out a laugh. “Be sure to mention that to Ojas. I believe I’ve heard him say something similar. He’s a big materials manufacturer...a man of action, like you.”

“Then I’m sure we’ll get along famously.”

“Yes...there’s also another chap I’m eager for you to meet. Varrick is his name,” Rong explained. “He owns some shipping enterprise, but it seems he has money to spare, as he’s currently investing heavily in a technology division.”

“Yes,” Raiko said, “No doubt waiting for Future Industries to fold. And Cabbage Corp may not be far behind.”

Rong shook his head solemnly. “A shame what those trials will do.”

“That’s what happens, when you conspire with criminals.” Rong had never struck Raiko as an Equalist sympathizer, though there was no denying the market was in a downturn at the moment.  _ Perhaps there is too much uncertainty surrounding the Tribunal _ , he thought. Raiko knew it was merely a temporary glitch though. Once he took office, people would surely place faith in the Republic once again.

“Oh, no question. But for a great industrialist to meet such an undignified end... Forgive me. Sato was a large client of mine.”

“I understand.  _ The Republican Star _ had one or two investors that fell for Amon’s false promises as well.”

Rong made a sympathetic noise. “Equalists aside, this Varrick is a cunning businessman and the sort of person we would want backing us. He’s Water Tribe, too. Southern, I think. Perhaps you can find some common ground with him.”

Raiko could feel himself starting to frown. “I’m afraid my mother was from the North,” he said, hoping that would put an end to it.  _ ‘You’re always needing help from someone else,’  _ he suddenly heard in his head. His mother had been dead a decade, yet the memory of her voice was as clear as day. He closed his hand tighter around the flute of his glass. He would sooner allow his campaign to go bankrupt than to use her to get ahead.

“Only a thought,” Rong was saying with shrug.

Raiko shook his head and looked back up, just in time to see his wife slip in beside Rong. “Excuse me,” she said to him, “but I couldn’t let you keep my husband to yourself  _ all _ night.”

Rong laughed heartily and kissed her on the cheek. “Buttercup, you’re looking well as always. Have you met—” he turned to his other side where Juro had been standing to find that he had vanished. “Dear me, when did the boy leave?” he asked Raiko.

“Perhaps he needed to refresh his drink,” he answered, leaning in to give Buttercup quick kiss as well. It seemed odd to him that a businessman wouldn’t want to hear which of his colleagues were looking to donate to the PNP, but it was also clear that Rovrik was calling the shots for them.

“Who?” his wife asked.

“Oh, no one. Just Juro, Rovrik’s partner,” Rong answered. “No matter; hopefully our company does not disappoint.”

“I’ll make do,” Buttercup said with a laugh. She lightly touched Rong’s arm. “I was actually hoping that I would get to hear  _ you _ give another speech tonight. You were so moving at the PNP dinner.”

“Raiko was hardly in need of my help. But don’t worry, there will be plenty of opportunities in the future for me to make a mockery of the language.”

“Oh you tease worse than my husband!” she laughed, gripping his arm now. Rong joined in with her.

Raiko could only smile. Buttercup was the perfect wife. She knew who to smile at, and she knew how to flirt without disgracing him. She made the men in the room feel desired, and the women feel listened to, yet it was always to him that she looked at the end of the day. He had chosen well. 

His father had told him as much once, though he was a genial sort by nature—far too easy to please. His mother, on the other hand...  _ No. Tonight is my victory, and I won’t allow her to taint that _ . Raiko forced himself to laugh along with them before pulling Buttercup to his side. “You know I only tease out of love.”

“And I’m sure I deserve it.”

He gave her an affectionate kiss on the temple. In truth, it had always been Tala, more than Buttercup, that he found receptive to his playful remarks. Yet it was Buttercup’s evenness he craved, and Tala had never seen fit to complain. Not until the end. Still, he could hardly feel guilty about it.  _ She always knew what she had signed up for _ .

“You’re a lucky man, Raiko,” Rong said, pulling him back to the present. “And about to become luckier, I think.” There was little arguing with that sentiment.

Soon after, Rong excused himself, only to be replaced by Hema, who extolled Raiko’s speech and assured him that the thirteen point lead Xar held was no more than an illusion. Then came the PNP’s treasurer, the Manager of Outreach, the Volunteer Coordinator, several regional directors...

After spending ten minutes listening to Shia prattle on about new recruits, Raiko finally excused himself to use the bathroom. Buttercup remained behind, and he could hear the two women giggling as he left them.  _ She seems to be enjoying herself _ , he thought. Perhaps this would make up for her not being able to sit on the Peach Blossom Society’s committee for their upcoming charity drive. Buttercup had seemed hurt when he told her, though she never said a word in protest.  _ She can have her organizations after I’m in office _ .

His urgency to relieve himself from his three glasses of champagne had been so great that he only noticed the cracked supply room door on his way back. There were muffled voices coming from within. He was nearly past the room, about to turn the corner to head back to the bullpen, when he recognized one of the voices as Kushala. “...gains were not what they should have been.” Raiko inched closer, knowing exactly who would answer before he even spoke.

“We had agreed that ten percent was workable,” Rovrik said quietly. “You believe three more points is insurmountable?”

“I believe it’s the difference between business leaders contributing to our campaign versus Xar’s, in hopes that they can influence him.”

“Bahira’s endorsement should scare them off. You saw what happened to Lau Gan-Lan.”

Kushala gave a heavy sigh. “Bahira’s no fool, and the Harmony party has Assembly candidates to think about. She’s just as likely to keep her mouth shut. And then there’s Titarri…”

“What about her? Her people did all they could to steal this election, and yet she’s still nine points back from us.”

“Pundarik may endorse her and he  _ had _ nine percent. If our supporters start seeing her as a viable option...”

“Raiko will have to court Pundarik, there’s no other option.”

“Then you’ll have to be the one to tell him so. If I suggest it..." Her voice trailed off, and for a moment, there seemed to be silence.

“Leave him to me. I need you focused on the debate.”

Raiko felt a rage boiling in his stomach.  _ They think they can handle me like some show poodle pony?  _ The thought nearly caused him to miss Kushala’s reply. “Titarri is a good debater, and he won’t take her seriously. If she’s smart, she’ll take up the anti-technology stance, and then Zaccor’s voters are on the table.”

“She is still a bender. And we can let Xar pick her apart on her financials.”

“Xar’s only target will be Raiko. He wants the votes split. Rovrik...I’ve played out every scenario I can think in my head. I don’t see a path to victory.”

Rovrik cursed softly.  _ How is he accepting this? Kushala was the one who was fearing Pundarik barely two weeks ago _ . “Look. The way I see it, benders and business leaders don’t want Xar. We know this. And there’s plenty of nonbenders who will view him as too extreme, now that Bahira won’t be poisoning the conversation. That’s over half the constituency, easily. We simply need to paint Titarri as doomed; we need the papers to paint her as doomed. Then the benders will be ours.”

“Then we need a candidate that takes her seriously!” Her anger somehow took Raiko’s away, replaced instead with amusement. Kushala sounded so petty; what was he supposed to have done? Quaked in his boots at an inexperienced girl because her father had once sat the Council? Raiko would have been content to return to the bullpen at that, but Rovrik’s reply came quickly.

“This is the candidate we have, and you know that. If you can’t work with him... I’m afraid you’ll leave me with little choice.”

“Is that what you want?” Kushala’s voice sounded shaky, as if she was close to tears.  _ Good _ .

“You know how I feel about you. But right now—”

“Raiko!” a voice called. He whipped around to see Sasros rounding the corner. “What are you doing here?”

There was no chance Kushala and Rovrik wouldn’t have heard as well. He cleared his throat and spoke with as much poise as he could muster. “Just needed a minute to collect my thoughts. Tonight is perhaps the first night the presidency has seems not-so theoretical.”

“Indeed it shouldn’t,” the Director of Communications answered. “I see little standing in your way. You ran a newspaper; Xar can hardly boast much more than a few promotions.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Raiko answered. “In fact, the only thing I see standing in my way are staffers too caught up in the numbers game to see what’s blindingly obvious.”

“Well,” Sasros said, “we have the finest staff there is, as you said. I doubt anyone here is so reactionary.”

“Certainly not anyone who will also be here in six weeks.”


	14. Tenzin V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tenzin continues to struggle with his place in the democratic process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Candidates for Presidency**  
>  -Titarri, Bending Heritage Party of the United Republic  
> -Xar, Labor Party  
> -Raiko, First People’s National Party of the United Republic (PNP)  
> 
> 
> * * *

 

> _“The seeming method of propagating ideas under a democracy is that of lying and evasion, bullying and bluster.”_
> 
> -Mongang, _Republic City Sun_

 

The door to the meeting room was ajar and unguarded. Tenzin had never found the presence of the rotating pairs of firebenders particularly comforting, but their absence filled him with an odd sense of dread. _Maybe she isn't here yet_. He was early, after all.

It was Asami Sato he had to thank for that. After at least a month of rejecting rides, the young industrialist had finally taken Tenzin up on his offer to fly with him to City Hall on Oogi. He was unsure if this was due to the fact that she had grown tired of trying to talk around the trials, or if she was looking for company; her father's sentencing was likely to come any day, if the papers were to be believed. But whatever the reason, the two found little to discuss on the flight before their conversation lapsed entirely into an uncomfortable silence. As if sensing this, Oogi seemed to fly faster than usual.

When they had walked into the building together, Tenzin found himself overwhelmed with a great urge to follow her into the old Council Room. Someone should be with her, but what was he to do? There was too much to accomplish before the final election in five weeks, and Asami hardly seemed receptive to his support. So he had bid her an awkward goodbye, before hurrying up the steps to meet with Fire Lord Izumi.

Tenzin stared at the door, debating whether to knock or simply push it open, when the unmistakable voice of General Iroh from within caused him to freeze in his spot. "You think I didn't consider that? The metalbenders are more than capable of handling it."

Izumi's reply was much quieter, though there was an edge to her voice. "Lin's forces are currently focused on the triads—you know this."

"Then maybe she's the one you should be talking to."

"It is a time of political upheaval, and this is exactly when any gang would strike. She is doing what needs to be done. _You_ are chasing a ghost of three month's past. You will call it off."

Tenzin heard a thud that caused him to jump, as if Iroh slammed his fist on the table. He suddenly found himself feeling oddly upset. It was one thing for Izumi to meet with her son, but another for her to be ordering the General of the United Forces without anyone else in the room. Though sometimes it was hard to tell apart her advice from her orders.

"That ghost," Iroh was now saying in an angry hiss, "is one of the most dangerous threats."

"Presently? You cannot believe that, unless you’re referring to the pursuit. Your actions have left us in an untenable position."

"I'm worried about the safety of the Republic, not your image!"

No reply came for a moment. _I should just walk in_ , Tenzin thought. _This is an inappropriate conversation_. _I can pretend I didn't hear anything._ When Izumi answered, her voice had grown so low that he had to strain to hear it. "In this case, the two are inextricable. Or do you think it is wise to give your new president cause to be mistrustful of my motives?"

"It's more complicated than that, Mom."

"It is not."

Tenzin could take no more. He pushed the door open. "Hi Izumi...oh, General Iroh! Hello there," he said, doing his best to act surprised.

Izumi was seated at the head of the table, surrounded by a good dozen scrolls. Her son was on his feet, leaning over the chair at the other end, though he straightened in surprise at Tenzin’s greeting. At the far end of the room, with his back to the window, stood Lee, an assistant of Izumi’s who often helped to keep their meetings running smoothly. _Someone that low was witnessing this?_

“Tenzin,” Izumi said, her eyes slightly narrowed. “I wasn’t expecting you quite yet.”

Iroh laughed. “Councilman Tenzin is only on time if he’s ten minutes early,” he said. “It’s good to see you, Sir.”

“ _Former_ Councilman Tenzin,” Izumi corrected.

“I hadn’t forgotten the Council was disbanded!”

The Fire Lord glanced in Tenzin’s direction before answering. “Yes, but it does us no good to stick with old conventions.”

Iroh looked as though he wanted to argue again, but Tenzin cut in. “Should I come back? I didn’t mean to interrupt an official meeting.” He tried to place emphasis on the last two words as best he could.

They both seemed oblivious. “I was actually just leaving,” Iroh said.

“Do you have an answer?” Izumi rested her chin on her hands and stared unblinkingly at her son.

He sighed and looked down at the chair, idly picking at its back. “The Second Division will return to the city.”

Her mouth barely moved, though Tenzin could see a smile forming in the Fire Lord’s eyes. “It is for the best.”

Iroh turned towards the door, looking as though he wanted to spit. Instead, he did his best to smile himself in Tenzin’s direction. “Master Tenzin, I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

“I look forward to it.”

Tenzin approached the table as he left, while Izumi turned towards the window. “Lee,” she asked, “I need you to run this message to High General Shirou.” She hastily signed a paper in front of her and rolled it up.

The young assistant rushed forward to take it. “Right away.” He hesitated, watching Tenzin take a seat. “Will you be wanting a rundown tonight?”

“Yes, certainly,” she said. “I expect I should be finished up with everything by eight.”

Lee seemed to stand straighter at that, but rushed out of the room all the same. Izumi turned and made a note on another scroll.

After a minute of silence, Tenzin couldn’t keep it in any longer. “Shirou. The prosecutor.”

Izumi met his gaze. “Yes,” she said simply.

“I thought we were trying to take a hands-off approach with the Tribunal.”

“We are. This is regarding troop movements.”

“And you don’t think there’s a conflict of interest?” Tenzin could hear how foolish his words sounded, but somehow couldn’t stop himself.

Izumi placed the cap on her pen and folded her hands together, considering him. “Whatever Shirou’s duties may be, he is still my High General and must be kept appraised of my orders.”

“You mean your son’s orders. The movement of the United Forces.”

Her mouth twitched. “Tenzin, for the past three months, my own troops have been helping keep the peace in the city. It was always meant as a temporary solution to allow the police the ability to focus on the triads, and the Forces to focus on their Equalist sweeps. My son called off the latter today, which means my own forces will decrease their presence on the streets. I was given the impression that you understood this.”

“I do,” he answered, frustrated, “but it was also my understanding that Iroh wanted to continue the sweeps until Amon was found.”

“A goal which is less and less relevant each day.” Izumi unfolded her hands and leaned back. “Look around, do you truly believe a fleeing bloodbender poses a bigger threat than the growing anxiety of a ‘Fire Nation takeover’? This fearmongering has the potential to undermine every effort we’ve made.”

Tenzin sighed. “I suppose you’re right. Though I thought the sweeps had some success in uncovering other Equalist conspirators.”

“Perhaps at first, but at this point it’s a vanity project for my son. And one that’s landing him in trouble.”

“The papers?”

Izumi picked back up her pen and began to idly twirl it in her hand. “In part, though it’s not just his job security. Last week a portion of his fleet found itself in Earth Kingdom waters, and a few unpleasantries were exchanged. It took me the better part of two hours to calm Hou-Ting.”

Tenzin blinked in disbelief. “You spoke with the Earth Queen? If an issue with the United Forces required that, then both Unalaq and I should have been alerted.” He had to stop himself from mentioning General Guo. Hou-Ting’s representative hadn’t attended a single meeting for well over a month. Just a few days past, with the frenzy of the first election over, Unalaq and Tenzin had gone to call on the old man at his hotel. There, they learned that he had left for the Earth Kingdom nearly two weeks prior without so much as a word.

Izumi waved her hand. “It was a trifling matter. I’ve known how to sooth her ego for some time now.”

“You deal with many trifling matters.”

A shadow rippled across her face. “As do you. There is too much to accomplish for us to continually check in with each other. If I recall correctly, you did not consult me when you ordered a stop to the literacy test being handed out at that northern polling location. And at the moment, we are both putting our trust into Unalaq not to sabotage the ballot standardization for the next election, not that we don’t have cause to worry about him.”

Tenzin stopped himself from sighing again. All the Chief of the Water Tribes seemed to do was caution him against Izumi, and now the reverse? From what he could tell, they both had their points. Unalaq showed a concerning disdain for all their efforts, while Izumi was too quick to put her own desires into action. _My desires as well; we both want what is best for the Republic_. Though Unalaq’s remark about the “use” the Fire Lord was making of him was hard to ignore. _Did Dad ever have doubts about Lord Zuko?_ They had been famous friends, but their philosophies must have clashed.

“Tenzin.” Izumi’s voice was now warm, or at least warm for her. “It seems as though there’s something on your mind.”

“I’m worried we’re allowing our..." He searched for the word. “Our passions to guide us too much. That we’re not being objective, like our fathers.”

The look she gave him was almost pitying. “Our fathers were anything but objective. Isn’t this why we’re establishing an election? Because they were too mistrustful of the people?”

“It’s interesting to hear you say that,” he answered. “You were born into your leadership and hardly seem to trust anyone around you with responsibility.”

“Is that so different from you?” she asked quietly.

Tenzin felt an odd surge of anger. “Of course it is! No one else can lead the Air Nation; it’s a burden for me, not a right.”

Izumi placed her hand on the table, as if reaching towards him. “If I could apologize for my ancestors every day, I would. But my point was that in this respect, we see eye-to-eye. My aunt and grandfather may have believed in a ‘divine right,’ but not my father, as he’d tell you. The crown is my duty; he taught me to live for my people and put them first, as I’ve raised Dorisu to understand, and she no doubt will pass along to Ariha.” She sighed and withdrew her arm. “I ask once again, are we so different? Do you truly not trust that my passions surrounding this government are aligned with your own?”

 _I want to_. “Sometimes, I don’t know what to trust,” he said, shaking his head. “Every solution we come up with seems to create five more problems, no matter how reasonable it seems at the time.”

She laughed. “Surely sitting the Council couldn’t have been much different.”

“Towards the end, it was all Tarrlok running things. A ‘council’ in name only.”

“And now we’ve formalized that with this presidency,” she said dryly. “Still, I suppose this is where we must part from our fathers and place our confidence in the people to pick the most suitable man for the job.” For a moment, the scorn in her voice reminded Tenzin of Unalaq.

“Or woman. Titarri did surprisingly well,” he said, watching her face.

Izumi barely reacted. “She certainly outperformed her polls, though a victory seems unlikely.”

“There were talks of vote-stealing.”

She gave an impassive shrug. “I don’t doubt it. It won’t behoove the triads to have Xar in charge.”

Tenzin knew he should let it go, but some impulse kept him talking. “You must be happy though. Didn’t you say you liked Titarri?”

“Did I?” Izumi’s eyes narrowed behind her glasses. “I’m sure I’d find her easier to work with than the likes of this Raiko, but I doubt a bender can heal the Republic as it needs. Still, the people will what they will; my opinion is irrelevant.” As if that put the matter to bed, she reached towards a scroll on her right and dragged it towards her. “I believe the Assembly may be our greatest triumph towards a truly functional democracy, Tenzin. Which is why we need to review the drafted powers and functions.”

The rest of their meeting went smoothly, albeit more politely than normal. After a good few hours, both fixed their signature to the draft, which Tenzin tucked into his robes for Unalaq. The Chief was supposed to have come back to City Hall as soon as he was done with the ballots, but there was no sign of him when Izumi left for a meeting with Lin, leaving just Tenzin to sit down with Ren, the newly appointed Minister of Internal Affairs. It was the fourth Cabinet appointment they had made; another one Izumi had argued to be instrumental enough that they couldn’t wait on the election of a president to fill.

After thirty minutes with her, Tenzin reviewed the monthly trade report and wrote a letter to the tribal chief in the Southern Water Tribe requesting their export sums from the last spring. As he addressed the envelope, he realized how long it had been since he had written or called his mother, but he didn’t have time to think about that. _The Glacier Spirits Festival is soon enough_ , he told himself, though the thought of leaving Republic City in just a couple of months did little to make him feel better.

He was halfway through a review of the Campaign Finance Disclosure Policy when he realized how dark it was outside. By the time he flew back to Air Temple Island, it nearly eight. _Even Izumi won’t be working much longer._ He wondered what had become of Unalaq; if there had been a problem with the ballot standardization, there wasn’t much time to fix it. Still, Tenzin did his best to push that thought from his mind as he walked into the dining hall.

His family normally took a full hour to eat, so he was surprised to find the room almost entirely empty, with the exception of Korra and Asami. They were sitting on the same side of the table, scraps of the meal strewn about. Asami had a thick book open in front of her. It wasn’t until they both looked up that Tenzin spotted Rohan in Korra’s lap, her hands tucked under his armpits.

“Hi Tenzin!” she called. Asami smiled.

“Where is everyone?” he asked, climbing onto a cushion across from Korra. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, Rohan,” he said, changing his voice to a sing-song for the baby. His son did little more than stare blankly back.

“Do you want to hold him?” Korra asked.

“Let me eat first.” He pulled the top off a nearby steamer basked to find mostly-cooled vegetables. He grudgingly spooned some onto a plate as Asami answered his first question.

“Pema is putting Ikki to bed—she wasn’t feeling well. Bumi and Jinora volunteered to take care of Meelo.”

“Both of them?”

Korra shrugged. “There was talk of one of Bumi’s famous bedtime stories...something about the time he lost a gamble with a pirate?”

Tenzin struggled not to roll his eyes. “I can see why Jinora wouldn’t want to miss that.” Korra laughed, but Asami simply turned a page of her book. There was no mistaking the weariness in her eyes. “How were your days?” he asked, putting a slimy wad of kale into his mouth.

It was Korra who answered. “I flew my glider to the Harmony Tower and back and kept pace with Jinora the whole time.”

He frowned, trying to fight the urge to point out that her glider skills were perfectly fine a month ago. _I thought I told her to focus on meditation_. Still, it was hard to blame Korra for her lack of discipline when he was the one absent during the week. _Maybe I can take a morning off soon to help her._ “That sounds like fun,” he managed through gritted teeth. “And Asami? Were there… Were there any verdicts today?”

“Oh—no. Well, I didn’t stay past noon, but they weren’t... I mean, there’s a few that are winding down,” she answered, her voice dropping to little more than a mumble.

Tenzin pushed his plate away and poured himself some tea, relieved to see there was still steam rising from it. “Well...if you want anyone to go—”

The screen door suddenly flew open, and Kaede ran in moving so quickly that her White Lotus hood looked as though it might blow off. “Master Tenzin, I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said with a hasty bow.

Tenzin glanced at Rohan, but the baby remained unperturbed. “What’s wrong?” he asked, looking back to Kaede.

“You have a visitor.”

“This late?”

She nodded, turning her head back to the door. “Guiren and I tried to get him to wait by the docks but, he was rather insistent and—"

At that moment they heard an approaching voice. “...it will only be a short visit, there’s no need for any formalities.”

Tenzin climbed out of his seat in time to see a man in a green suit stride into the room. He was average height, though had a slightly stocky frame that seemed to command more attention. His face was a stranger to Tenzin, yet there had been something about his voice that seemed familiar.

As soon as he saw the airbender, the man’s smiled broadly. “Master Tenzin, it is an honor,” he said with a bow. Before he could reply, the man looked towards the table. “No no, don’t trouble yourselves. I’m no president yet.” Asami, who had half-risen, sank back to her cushion, though Korra hadn’t moved at all, still holding tight to Rohan.

It suddenly hit Tenzin. “Xar?” he asked.

“Yes, indeed. As I said, Sir, an honor. And an honor to meet the Avatar, of course.” he inclined his head in Korra’s direction. She looked towards Tenzin in bemusement. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I know you...” he said to Asami.

She also glanced up at Tenzin before answering. “Asami Sato, Sir.”

Xar’s eyes grew wide. “Are you really?” he asked with a bow. “I had heard you fought with the Avatar, but still... What brings you here? Official business as well?”

“At the moment, dinner,” she answered with a smile, though her tone was cool. Xar let out a small laugh all the same.

Tenzin suddenly found himself recalling Izumi’s caution against Asami staying on the island. “Sir, I must ask, what are you doing here? We normally don’t allow visitors—”

“I’m sorry about your father...what you must both be going through,” Xar continued, ignoring him. “Of course, we all know he went too far, but I think there were few of us untouched by his remarks about your mother. A tragedy indeed.”

Asami opened her mouth as if to reply, but no words came out. Korra looked at her friend and then back at Xar, before cocking her head to one side and asking, “Why are you here?”

He gave another laugh. “Very direct, that’s good. I felt it was past time we met; all of us,” he added, turning towards Tenzin. “Especially with the results of the election. I chanced upon a free moment this evening, and was already in the Seaside Resort District, so I decided to make the most of it.”

Tenzin frowned. “Yes, well, it’s certainly an honor to meet you as well, Xar, but I’m not sure this visit is entirely...appropriate.” _If the cameras followed him here, the reporters will swarm me tomorrow. Or worse, Korra_.

“I don’t see why not,” he answered pleasantly. “If I hope to lead the Republic, aren’t you exactly who I should be talking to? And the Avatar,” he said, nodding in her direction. “I feel that getting to know one another can only help our nation.”

“Perhaps,” Tenzin said slowly, “once the second election has passed.”

“I’m sure any other candidate would be welcome here as well, right? If the concern is ethics?”

Tenzin suddenly found himself wishing Izumi was there. “They are, but there’s little point at the moment.” By the door, Kaede held up a small flame in palm of her hand and gave Tenzin a questioning look. He gave a small shake of his head, and she closed her hand, extinguishing it.

“I disagree,” Xar said. “I think a mutual understanding is exactly what the Republic needs. From what I can tell, we agree on more than we disagree. I had hoped to establish a copacetic working relationship as quickly as possible, for that reason. Surely a majority of the people would want to see such a thing.”

“A majority of voters?” Korra asked pointedly.

A small flush appeared on Xar’s neck, but when he looked towards the Avatar his smile was as congenial as ever. “I happen to think that most people would feel best trusting in someone who has the support of, well, most of the people. Don’t you agree?”

She shrugged and shifted Rohan on her lap. “That sounds like what happened with Amon.”

He let out a low chuckle. “You are a smart young woman, but I don’t think he ever had majority support. No, I think his greatest success was dividing his opposition. I’m hoping to bring everyone together.”

“I don’t think that can be accomplished tonight,” Tenzin said, his frustration growing. _It is not his place to give Korra a history lesson_.

Xar turned back, his eyes almost shining. “You _are_ well-respected,” he said. “I wouldn’t underestimate that. Nor should Avatar Korra or Miss Sato underestimate their own voices.”

“I’m not interested in talking to more papers, if that’s what you mean,” Korra said.

“That’s not what I said.” He held his hands up. “I can’t be clear enough on that.”

“But it’s what you implied,” Asami pointed out, a look of annoyance on her face.

Korra seemed as though she wanted to argue as well. “Girls,” Tenzin said, “would you mind putting Rohan to bed? I just realized the time.”

“He’s fine,” Korra objected, lifting the baby up as if to emphasize her point. Rohan’s eyes widened at the sudden movement, but he made no sound.

“Korra, please.” He tried to give her a significant look.

Asami rose and touched her on the shoulder. “Come on,” she said quietly. To Tenzin’s relief, Korra obeyed, carefully holding Rohan's head as she climbed out of the table.

Xar looked as though he were unsure whether to speak again, his mouth almost twitching. Yet once both girls had rounded the table, he couldn’t seem to help himself. “Well, it truly was an honor to meet you both,” he said with a bow.

Asami returned the gesture, but Korra adjusted her grip on Rohan and merely smiled. “Good to meet you too.”

“Miss Sato,” Xar added, stopping her in her tracks. “If you ever have a moment... I’m certainly always eager to get the perspective of business owners. Perhaps we might connect at some point soon.”

She looked at the politician, a closed expression on her face. “Perhaps. Though, if you want my perspective now, I think you’re wrong about Amon.”

Xar looked dumbfounded. “You haven’t been reading those articles calling me a ‘closeted Equalist,’ have you? They have no basis in fact, I promise you.”

“No, about what you said—his ‘greatest success.’ It wasn’t dividing his enemies.”

“No?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” she answered, a hardness in her eyes Tenzin had not seen since she had defended Hiroshi from Lin’s questioning. “It was deception. Convincing the city that his solution was the one they needed.”

“That’s...very wise,” Xar said managed after a moment.

Asami glanced in Tenzin's direction for a moment before turning on her heel. Korra, who had paused by the door, did the same; they left without another word. Tenzin gave Kaede and Guiren a small nod, and the two pair of sentries quickly followed after.

With the room emptied, Tenzin allowed himself a calming exhale while he searched for the words.

Xar beat him to it. “I’ve upset you, I can see it,” he said, holding up a hand. “Please believe me, this was the opposite of my intent. I merely wanted to open the lines for a productive working relationship.”

“What you merely wanted,” Tenzin said, forcing his voice to remain even, “was an endorsement.”

His eyes widened. “I would never ask for it! That _would_ be unethical.”

“Am I supposed to ignore your remark about the power of my voice?” Tenzin could practically hear Izumi asking the same question, though he wondered if she would have even let the conversation go on as long as it had.

“That was poorly done, wasn’t it?” Xar answered with a small shake of his head. “I do apologize. You’re partially right; I had perhaps hoped that after a reasoned discussion you might have...seen my merits as a candidate? There, I’ve said it. Was that so wrong of me?”

“What was wrong was your coming here; your involving Korra.”

“Tenzin, I assure you, I was thinking only of you. Truth be told, I didn’t even remember that the Avatar was staying here. I didn’t expect to see her tonight, and I certainly didn’t expect Hiroshi Sato’s daughter.”

His words sounded earnest, but there was something about his manner that kept Tenzin on edge. “Either way this is my home. It would be one thing if you had requested a meeting downtown, but even there... I’ve been quite clear to the press that I will not give an endorsement to any candidate. It was inappropriate for you to seek it out.”

“You’ve spoken to components of a candidate’s platform before, like when you criticized Bahira’s tax plan,” he pointed out.

“I did no such thing! It was an out of context quote when I was just trying to get the press to leave me alone! I’m the one writing the laws now, creating these elections; I have to remain impartial, and I would think a candidate for the presidency might understand why.” The words fell out of Tenzin’s mouth before he could stop himself.

Xar looked away and took a breath. When he met Tenzin’s gaze again, any trace of warmth in his face had vanished. “May I speak frankly?”

 _This could be the next president; you can’t afford for there to be animosity_. “That’s only fair, given my own candor,” he answered.

Xar gave a small smile, though his eyes remained unflinching. “I will win the second the election. Barring something extraordinary, my opponents simply do not have the support. The eliminated candidates earned a combined twenty-one percent of the votes. If Raiko and Titarri earn two of those votes to each one of mine, I will still beat them. My team has run a variety of scenarios, and even our most conservative models put me a full three percentage points above the second place candidate.”

Tenzin had tried not to pay too much attention to polling, but it was hard to argue that both Raiko and Titarri needed to gain considerable ground based on the result of the first election. “If you feel it is such a certainty, I might ask why it is that you felt this visit to be necessary.”

“Because what is far less certain is my earning a majority of the votes,” Xar answered. “In fact, our generous estimates only place me with forty-eight percent. The most likely scenario seems to be forty-six percent, with Raiko earning thirty-five percent, and Titarri, nineteen.”

“I’m not sure I see your point,” Tenzin said, furrowing his brow.

“As a candidate for the presidency, I _do_ understand why you can’t give an endorsement; it might call the new government into question if people felt that you were allowing a bias to factor into your decisions,” he said, taking a step forward. “However, if the Republic’s first election yields a president that the majority of voters don’t want, would that not also call everything into question? In my view, it would undermine the new government even more than any perceived partiality.” Xar reached out and placed a hand on Tenzin’s shoulder. “I’m merely thinking of the needs of our city. I would hate to see your hard work come undone.”


	15. Asami V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tribunal rules on Hiroshi's case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **The Tribunal**  
>  Judges:  
> -Hotah (NWT)  
> -Professor Hengli (EK)  
> -Bumi (UR)  
> -Colonel Jenifa (FN)  
> Chief Prosecutors:  
> -Chieftain Amaqjuaq (SWT)  
> -Lieutenant General Rosomi (UR)  
> -Governor Aiguo (EK)  
> -High General Shirou (FN)  
>  **Candidates for Presidency**  
>  -Titarri, Bending Heritage Party of the United Republic  
> -Xar, Labor Party  
> -Raiko, First People’s National Party of the United Republic  
> 
> 
> * * *

> _Is it a fact, then that the majority of the people of the United Republic are still in favor of these trials? I doubt that anyone knows; I doubt indeed that anyone can say with assurance that a majority of them were ever in favor of it._
> 
> -Mongang, Republic City Sun

 

Bolin gripped the side of the car and sucked in his breath.

“Don’t you trust my driving by now?” Asami asked. It took an effort to sound jovial, especially with the gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“What? Oh, of course, yeah, it’s just—uh—I don’t think I’m used to the front seat.” He turned and gave an uneasy smile. “It feels faster than I remember.”

 _I’m going faster than you remember_. It was an odd thing; no matter how much she dreaded the destination, she couldn’t seem to stop her foot from pressing the pedal nearly to the floor. “Well, I promise I’ll get us there in one piece.”

Even as she said it, Asami wondered if it was a promise she could keep. She had gotten no sleep the night before. Every time she had felt herself drifting, she somehow heard the sound of shattering glass. She would then sit straight up, heart hammering and a bitter taste forming in her mouth. Perhaps for that reason, she felt as though her car were driving itself this morning. The roads looked undefined, and every time she blinked to clear her vision, she became very aware of how heavy her eyelids felt. _If I need to stop driving, would Bolin be able to take over?_

She yawned, trying to force the thought from her mind. Bolin did the same. “Well,” she said, “thank you for agreeing to come with me—waking up early and everything. I know it can’t be too fun.”

“Oh I don’t mind!” he answered enthusiastically. “Back when we were living on the streets, Mako _always_ made sure we were up at the first light. Never really knew why that was, but it’s something he still does, and, well, our apartment is small.”

That was true enough. When Asami had gone to pick Bolin up that morning, Mako was already rushing out the door, not even bothering to button up his jacket before he left. She had assumed that it was because he didn’t want to stay in the room with her any longer than was necessary, but there was no denying that he also took his job quite seriously. There was even something in the way he carried himself after he donned his officer’s uniform; he somehow looked more dashing than usual, more mature.

Still, it was hard for Asami not to feel at least a little relieved after he had gone. Today was going to be hard enough, and uncomfortable small talk with her ex-boyfriend would not have improved her mood any.

“I’m glad it doesn’t bother you,” she told Bolin, slowing to take a turn. “But even so, today might be a bit dull for you.”

He let go of the car’s side. “No, I don’t think so. I haven’t been to a trial yet; I’m sure it will be interesting. Though, uh, what are we rooting for?” He scratched the side of his head.

“Rooting for? It’s my father’s ruling.”

“Oh so like, do we want him to get off? Or..."

“What?! No!” Asami answered, taking her eyes off the road to look at Bolin for a moment.

He seemed to shrink in his seat. “Okay, I didn’t think so, I was just making sure.”

She felt a wave of guilt wash over her. _He didn’t have to agree to this_ , she reminded herself. _Besides, Korra asked the same thing_. “It’s alright,” she said. “It’s just...you know. You were there when he...” Her voice trailed off.

Bolin nodded soberly. “So then what’s a good sentence? Ten years? Twenty? What do you want to happen?”

Asami tightened her grip on the steering wheel, suddenly aware of how close they were to City Hall. _It’s really happening_. “There’s no good sentence, Bolin. I just want it to be over.” She made a right-hand turn and immediately began scouring the street ahead for free parking spots.

“Okay, well whatever happens, we should get lunch afterwards. A bowl of noodles always makes me feel better. Maybe Harbor City Shack?”

In truth, Asami found Water Tribe cuisine to be bland, but she could hardly refuse Bolin anything with what he had agreed to. “Sure,” she said, pulling past an empty space so that she could back into it.

City Hall was more crowded than usual. Even the day of the Tribunal’s first ruling for a high-profile Equalist Lieutenant hadn’t drawn this many people. She pushed her way into the old Council’s chambers, suddenly worried that she wouldn’t be able to get a seat. Bolin followed dutifully in her wake.

Her fear was instantly pacified; though there was certainly a healthy number of people sitting at the tables, at least a third were still empty. She supposed a lot of that was due to reporters trying to get last-minute interviews in the lobby.

Asami was about to make her way towards a pair of chairs near the center of the room when a hand on her shoulder stopped her. Her first thought was that it was must have been a journalist, but when she whirled around, she found herself face-to-face with the Chief of Police. “Oh...hi,” she stammered.

Lin grunted in what might have been a response, gave a small nod in Bolin’s direction, and then looked her in the eyes. “You don’t need to see this, kid.”

“I...I want to. I mean, I have to,” Asami managed.

Lin’s expression remained unchanging. “I can’t stop you, but it’s not a good idea. Trust me.”

Asami stared, unsure whether she was supposed to ask why Lin felt that way. She was spared the necessity of deciding when a metalbending officer came running up. “Just keep it in mind,” Lin added, before walking away with him.

Asami turned back to Bolin. Her confusion must have shown, because he simply shrugged his shoulders and gestured behind them, towards the tables. The chairs Asami had spotted were filled, so they had to settle for a spot just shy of the middle of the room.

Once they were seated, Bolin surveyed the room while absentmindedly drumming on the table. “The last time I was in here was when Tarrlok knocked us out.”

The thought made her shudder. She could still recall the queer sensation, the immediate pain, the way her vision had instantly blurred. The knot in her stomach seemed to twist. “Today should be less dramatic. Well...in a manner of speaking.”

“Not if there are objections,” he answered. “There’s this one radio show—the River Village Sketches—and the two guys often do courtroom stuff. I listen to it at the gym a lot. They always declare a mistrial!”

“I doubt that will happen here, Bolin.”

“Well I could declare it.”

Asami laughed. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said. “All we’re supposed to do is sit here. Well, we stand when the judges walk in, I suppose. But as I said, it won’t be that exciting.”

He shrugged. “That’s okay; I needed a break from my new teammates.”

Asami was about to ask about probending practice when they were interrupted by a familiar voice. “I was wondering when you’d get here.” She looked up to see Kayaqtuk standing next to the side of their table, barely a foot from Bolin. “And you’ve brought a friend, how charming. Or is this your assistant? I wouldn’t think Future Industries could spare the man-power, even on a day like today.”

She felt her anger rising, but Bolin’s confused expression helped keep her calm enough to manage the introductions. “Kayaqtuk, this is Bolin; Bolin, my father’s lawyer.”

“Bolin...” Kayaqtuk repeated, leaning both palms on the table and giving him an appraising look. “Why do I know that name?”

“Uh—I was a probending finalist last year, Sir? The Fire Ferrets?”

The lawyer rolled his eyes. “I don’t care for the sport.”

“What are you doing here?” Asami asked. _There’s nothing he could say that I’d want to hear_. Worse still, she couldn’t shake the thought that it was Hiroshi who had ordered him over.

His mouth twitched. “Is that any way to talk to a friend?”

“We’re not friends,” she shot automatically. To her right, she could feel Bolin shifting in his chair.

“And what have I done to have earned such animosity?” Kayaqtuk asked, his voice full of amusement. “I kept you off the stand, didn’t I?”

“That was to help yourself.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining. Is that what you wanted? To testify?”

Asami forced herself to take a breath, trying to stay calm. More and more reporters were filing in now, and the last thing she wanted was to make a scene. “Shouldn’t you be with my father right now?” The two usually entered the courtroom together, more times than not, laughing.

Kayaqtuk drew himself upright at that. “I’ve had my closing statement prepared for weeks, but moreso, the time for strategizing has passed.” He looked over his shoulder towards the prosecution’s table, where Governor Aiguo and Chieftain Amaqjuaq were unpacking papers, the other two chairs still empty. “If there ever was a time.” He met Asami’s eyes again. “I’m afraid that despite my best effort, this Tribunal has been steadfast in its thirst for blood. Especially with the Forces calling off the pursuit of Amon. Everyone wants him to pay, and it looks like they’ll have to do it by proxy. Who better than your father to take the fall?”

 _Is that how he’s rationalized it?_ Asami was tempted to ask that of Kayaqtuk, but Bolin spoke before she had a chance. “Wait, no...Hiroshi’s done lots of bad stuff! He bombed the city. And I had to stop him from killing Asami.”

“Bolin,” she cautioned, putting a hand on his arm. Her heart was hammering so painfully that she wondered if he would be able to feel it through her fingertips.

Kayaqtuk’s eyes widened. “ _That’s_ where I know your name; the depositions. I’m lucky indeed the prosecution never got their hands on you. That earnest face would have played very well, don’t you agree Miss Sato?”

“I agree with Bolin,” she answered, trying not to blink. “My father’s crimes stand on their own.”

Kayaqtuk sighed, put a hand against their table, and hoisted himself up so that he sat on the edge. “If it gives you comfort to think that, why not? It’s given everyone else here that much. But make no mistake; had Amon been captured and tried, I could have gotten your father a shorter sentence by at least ten years.”

“How can you say that? There hasn’t even been a verdict yet,” she pointed out. She couldn’t help but feel as though this was exactly what he wanted: to toy with her as some sort of cheap victory.

“Surely a businesswoman such as yourself is not so naive. Today’s a spectacle, Miss Sato. It’s been one for weeks now. Why do you think they saved your father for last?”

“Maybe his case was the most complicated?” Bolin asked, though he looked at Asami as he said it. She found herself wishing she hadn’t brought him... He didn’t need to be subjected to this.

“You seem like a wise, young man,” Kayaqtuk said, the mockery plain in his voice. “I’m sure that’s their stated reason, but it’s no coincidence that his was the most high-profile case.” He looked back to Asami and laid a hand on the table. “Your father will receive a sentence of fifty years, with a chance for parole after forty. I suppose I could have told you this some time ago, but you seemed so _enraptured_ with the process.”

Kayaqtuk’s words sounded almost foreign to Asami; even the jab. “Forty years…” she repeated.

“It’s almost crueller than a life sentence, isn’t it?” he continued, dispassionately. “Turning him out on the streets at ninety. Where will he go?” His eyes seemed to bore into Asami, but he didn’t wait for an answer. “Not that anyone else will see it. No, just wait, the papers will praise this decision. It sufficiently condemns the Equalist cause, while offering the façade of impartiality. Moderate enough where attention might turn back to the election after only a day...just in time for the next debate. Wait, is it possible that was intentional?” he asked, bringing a hand to his chin in sarcastic contemplation.

“Uhhh...maybe?” Bolin answered, his face scrunched up in bemusement.

Asami exhaled. “Is this what you came here to say?” she asked. “To complain about a sentence that hasn’t passed yet?”

Kayaqtuk smirked and reached inside his jacket. “No, I came here to prepare you for the inevitable.” When he pulled his arm back out, a gold chain dangled from his fist. “Your father asked me to give you this; he felt it was too valuable for a prison cell.” He opened his hand to reveal her father’s pocket watch, which he held out towards Asami.

She took it and immediately closed her fingers around its frame, not bothering to take a closer look. She had memorized the inscription years ago: _Hiroshi, just a reminder that we have all the time in the world. Love, Yasuko_. Asami could feel Kayaqtuk watching her closely. Whatever reaction he had hoped for, it didn’t come. Any other day it might have brought tears to her eyes, but today...it was just a piece of metal, warmed from the lawyer’s pocket. “Is that all then?” she asked.

“You Satos really are a sentimental lot,” he laughed, jumping off the table. He looked as though he were about to walk away when he suddenly turned back. “There is one last thing. Your father told me I should tell you, ‘inventory and shipping.’” He made quotation gestures with his hands.

Somehow, absurdly, that brought a lump to her throat. She angrily tried to choke it down. “Did he?”

“I would have opted for ‘goodbye,’ myself,” he said, looking over his shoulder towards the prosecution table again. High General Shirou and General Rosomi must have arrived when they had been talking.  Kayaqtuk sighed. “Anything you’d like to say back? ‘Sales’ and ‘taxes’ perhaps?”

“You should go; you’ve got that closing statement to think about,” Asami answered.

“Well then,” he said, rolling his eyes. “If you’re ever in need of legal counsel, our conflict of interest will be going away for quite some time, Miss Sato.” With that, he turned and strode away.

Bolin let out a sigh of his own. “I don’t think I liked him very much. That didn’t remind me of the River Village Sketches at all!” Asami laughed, which seemed to relax him a bit. “Hey, what did he hand you?” he asked.

She looked down at her still-closed fist; her knuckles had turned white. “Here,” she said, handing the watch to him. She watched his eyes grow wide when they fell on the engraving. Suddenly, a wave of disgust came over her. “Keep it, I don’t want it.”

“What?” he asked in alarm.

“Just keep it, Bolin. I don’t even want to look at it.”

“I...” He paused. “But I don’t have anything fancy that it’d go with. Besides, are you sure about that? If I had something from my parents—”

“This is different.” She met his eyes, the worry plain on his face. “Please.”

Bolin looked as if he wanted to argue more, but nodded and slid his hand into his pocket all the same. “Do you think Kayaqtuk is right about the verdict?” he asked.

“I don’t see how he could know,” Asami answered. “The Tribunal seems fair to me. I think he was just bitter and wanted to take it out on someone. He knew I’d be upset by what he said.”

Yet only a few short hours later, Kayaqtuk’s words were proven correct.

It was an odd thing; Asami had spent the past two months waiting for this moment...wondering how she’d feel when it arrived. She had imagined some sort of relief to come, even if was a bittersweet one at that. But when Hotah’s booming voice declared her father guilty of crimes against peace, war crimes, and crimes against humanity, and that he was to serve the fifty years Kayaqtuk had promised, she hardly felt anything at all. It was as though she had stepped into a dream and was floating above her body.

She barely heard the crowd’s murmurs. Instead, she focused solely on her father; the way he stood, the guard that approached, his final glance around the room...all of it happening in what seemed like slow motion. Her seat was far enough back that he never laid eyes on her, though she had a perfectly unobstructed view of the door behind the judges’ stand through which he was led. Even after his head disappeared, she remained staring at the spot.

A hand on her shoulder made her jump. She turned to see Bolin, a pleading look on his face. “Asami?”

“Yes?”

“Uh...oh, it’s just that. I was, uh saying...I think we’re supposed to leave.” He gestured around the courtroom where everyone looked to be standing. There was even a line that had formed towards the entryway as people clamored to leave.

“Oh, sorry.” Her legs felt weak as she rose to her feet. Bolin soon followed suit. As they made their way to join the queue, Asami kept her head down. She had seen too many hungry-looking reporters in the crowd and the last thing she needed was to be caught off-guard with their questions. Bolin seemed to sense her tension; from her periphery she could see him continually turning to look at her, though he said nothing.

Asami felt herself growing hot as she and Bolin were herded towards the door. Yet what waited for them on the other side was worse. The atrium was full to bursting, even busier than it had been several hours beforehand. The noise alone was dizzying, though she managed to pick-out pieces of several different conversations. “Fifty years? It’s the best any of us could have hoped for”; “I heard Sato’s lawyer threw his briefcase in a temper tantrum”; “Even Xar should be pleased with this one.”

A younger man in suspenders suddenly sprang towards them and grabbed Bolin by the collar of his shirt. “Can you believe he got off?” he asked.

Bolin managed to remove the man’s arms. “What? No! That didn’t happen!”

“That’s what they’re saying,” the man insisted, gesturing around. “That criminal will be on the streets again!”

“He got fifty years,” Bolin corrected. “No one’s on the streets.”

A familiar, bitter taste filled Asami’s mouth. “Bolin, I’ll be right back.” She pushed through the crowd without waiting for an answer. How she found her way to the bathroom remained a mystery, but once there, Asami couldn’t even make it to a stall. She turned to her right and wretched directly into the sink, clutching its porcelain sides for support. To her horror, she heard a flush a moment later. She turned and raced out of the room without so much as turning on the faucet, terrified at the idea of someone seeing her.

Being back in the entrance hall hardly made her feel any better. The crowd was at least thinner towards the lavatories, but she knew Bolin was somewhere in the main swarm. She began to walk back, almost blindly, when her path was suddenly obstructed. She looked up to see a woman with round, turtle crab eyeglasses and a pressed suit peering at her. “Asami Sato?”

“I..." She hesitated; the woman didn’t have a notebook, but there was no mistaking that look of eagerness. “Why?” she managed, awkwardly.

The woman barely seemed to be listening. “Now that the ruling on your father is in, what are your plans for Future Industries? What changes can we expect?”

Asami could feel a drop of sweat running down her back. She tried not to think about how her face must look. “Please, no questions.”

“Is this a good thing for Future Industries?” the woman pressed on. “Or did you get the sense that your employees wanted an acquittal for Hiroshi?”

“No...I don’t know.” She met the woman’s gaze. “No comment.” That sounded like something she had heard her father say to reporters before.

“Is this the _official_ stance of Future Industries? Won’t your shareholders be wanting a comment?”  

 _If I don’t talk, she can’t report on it_ , Asami realized. She forced herself to push past the woman, wondering if it was worse to make an enemy of a reporter. But even if she had prepared answers for the press, she was in no state to do give them. _I need a publicist_ , she thought, purposely wheedling into the center of the crowd. It would make sense, but she knew it wasn’t feasible; she barely had found the resources to set aside for a CFO’s salary, not that anyone had jumped at the job opening.

The press would need an official comment eventually, she knew. Even more, it would probably help her company’s case for the public to know that Hiroshi was gone for good, not that she had anyone in her marketing department left to report the news. _I wouldn’t be surprised if there are even more resignations after today_. Asami had done her best to fire anyone who had helped her father work on Equalist weaponry, but she didn’t doubt that there would be a good number of employees who trusted Hiroshi’s business sense above all, and only stayed on in case he returned. Or worse still, there might be employees sympathetic to the Equalist cause, even if they hadn’t been active participants.

Unbidden, she found herself thinking of Kayaqtuk’s opening statement, _‘Can any of us truly wash our hands of involvement?’_ Asami couldn’t help but feel as though the trials did little to address the root of the problem. _That’s what the election is for_ , she reminded herself. Not that meeting Xar in person had done anything to inspire confidence. She had never been the candidate’s biggest fan, though the way he had acted a few nights ago was nearly unforgivable—how he had tried to manipulate Korra into giving her endorsement.

The idea of Xar being the person that could heal the city seemed almost ridiculous, but the idea of living in a world where Kayaqtuk would be proven right seemed even worse.

“Asami?” Two strong hands grabbed her by the upper arms. It took a second for her to realize it was Bolin.

“There you are,” she said, relieved.

It took the better part of ten minutes for the pair to push through the crowd, out the door and onto the steps just outside City Hall. “If only there had been earth in there,” Bolin said. “I would have gotten us through so quickly.”

“It’s okay,” Asami said, the sunlight making her head pound. She pressed two fingers to her temple. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asked.

She let go and looked back at her friend, his face as sympathetic as ever. _He really would have played well on the stand._ “Nothing, I don’t know. This couldn’t have been very fun for you.”

“Well it’s over now, right? We can do something fun?”

“Bolin, I—I can’t,” she said, a tightness in her throat. “I should have known, but with this... With this ruling..." Guilt bubbled white-hot in her stomach; she looked away from Bolin’s eyes. “I have to work.”

He made no effort to hide his disappointment. “What, right now? You can’t even get lunch?”

“I can’t. I shouldn’t have gone today; I should have sent someone and had them call in the results. Our shareholders… This changes everything.” _How could I have not realized that it would? I should have never wasted my time at these._ “You heard Kayaqtuk,” she added sardonically; “inventory and shipping.” She had already begun looking into cutting her transportation costs, but the idea that her father felt he needed to tell her made it almost unbearable.

“Can I help?” Bolin asked uncertainly.

Asami suddenly felt herself fighting the urge to cry. “No, you’ve done so much. Too much, really. I just, I need to go. I can at least give you a ride back to your apartment?”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll stay downtown for a little. There’s a fish vendor a few blocks away I’ve always liked, it’ll be fine.”

 _I had promised him noodles earlier_. “I’ll—I’ll see you later then,” she said.

He smiled and put a hand in his pocket; the one where her father’s watch sat. “Okay. Good luck with your business stuff!”

Asami barely managed to return the smile before she turned and walked down the stairs, leaving Bolin standing at the top.


	16. Raiko V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the second presidential debate, and Raiko feels as confident as ever at his prospects. Yet some disagree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **Original Characters**  
>  -Kushala, Raiko's campaign manager  
> -Rovrik, the Chairman of the PNP  
> -Sasros, the PNP Director of Communications  
> -Hema, a PNP staffer working closely with Sasros  
> -Choden, the PNP Director of Scheduling  
> -Mai, a PNP staffer  
> -Jian, a PNP staffer  
>  **Candidates for Presidency**  
>  -Titarri, Bending Heritage Party of the United Republic  
> -Xar, Labor Party  
> -Raiko, First People’s National Party of the United Republic (PNP)  
> 
> 
> * * *

 

> _Raiko, indeed, is probably a more sagacious fellow than some of us thought. His inability to speak intelligibly is so striking that it conceals what might be no doubt a very tolerable gift for practical politics. Examine the history of the campaign, and you will find that he made none of the costly blunders of his opponents. Titarri has wasted her trying to bamboozle the spiritual base, and may have managed to scare off the mainstream benders who elected her. Xar went to Air Temple Island, closeted himself with Master Tenzin, and then announced that he and the Air Nation were one on the trials, only for the former Councilman to deny such claims. Neither gesture, of course, was honest, but that was no objection to them. What ailed them was that neither was wise._
> 
> -Mongang, Republic City Sun

 

Raiko’s heart seemed to be beating in the back of his throat. He hated feeling nervous, rare as it was. Lesser men might think the debate a good enough reason for it, but he knew he would be able to talk circles around his opponents.

No, it was Kushala he had to thank for the tension; she had insisted on dogging him all afternoon, determined to talk strategy at every turn, as if his ten practice debate sessions never happened. Even now, she had followed him to the platform that would soon take him from the wings to the stage, trying to fill his head with last-minute advice. _Imagine what would be said if she doesn’t step off in time_ , he thought, turning away from the door to the arena to glare at her.

Kushala took no notice. Her eyes were fixed on several crumbled looking sheets of paper that she held in her hands. The one on top seemed to be a list, which she was rattling off. “Your trade answer was passable; there’s a few experts who might have words about it, but that’s not a question that Shiro will want to stay on. It’s the corporate tax policy where there’s going to be more of a discussion, and Koma’s rebuttal in yesterday’s practice still scares me. If that comes up it might be a good time to—”

“Kushala,” he interrupted sharply, “any minute this door will open and I will be brought out to the stage.”

“We’ll hear Titarri’s name announced first,” she said, waving her free hand.

“My point is, I need to focus.”

“I’m trying to help with that, sir.” Kushala looked up. As always, her hair seemed to be falling out of its tie. She also had an irritating smear of ink on her cheek, only noticeable when the light caught her at the right angle.

“By running through every single possible question with me?”

She sighed and lowered her notes. “You’re right, that might cause confusion at this point. But you’ll remember not to be too aggressive with Titarri, right? She’ll be going after you, so it will be tempting.”

Raiko clenched his jaw to keep from shouting. _We’ve gone over this every day for the past two weeks._ Kushala seemed so sure of his opponents' strategies, and was not shy about reminding him at every opportunity. According to her, Titarri would try and take down Raiko; she needed to position herself as the candidate Xar's detractors could rally behind. So far, her attempts to win over Pundarik's voting block hadn't gone well, if the polls were anything to go by, but Kushala remained convinced that Titarri could accomplish it with a strong debate. Xar, for his part, was supposedly going to stick to positive tactics, counting on Titarri and Raiko to tear each other apart.

"Wouldn't it make sense for Xar to be aggressive towards me?" Raiko had asked Kushala when she first suggested this. "After all, I'm his biggest threat." His campaign manager had screwed up her face at that, as though his at a loss to follow what he had said.

"At this point, he just can't afford to lose any of his voters." She had answered. "If he keeps his supporters, he'll still win, even if it's not a majority. It's far less risky for him to tout his own record and seem above it all."

Her certainty was beyond off-putting, especially with Xar's blunder only the week prior. The fool had taken it upon himself to visit Air Temple Island, no doubt to court Master Tenzin's endorsement. He had proudly told the press that the two men saw eye-to-eye on many key issues, including the path forward for the Republic after the election, yet the papers the following day had reported that the airbender was unaware of any such agreement. Still, Kushala remained steadfast that this would not affect Xar's strategy.

"Now more than ever he needs to seem balanced. An aggressive debate performance is going to paint him as too mercurial...even untrustworthy," she had insisted.

Raiko would have liked nothing better than to argue, but her resulting ideas for his own debate strategy suited him fine: he was allowed to be aggressive with Xar in an attempt to push him towards losing his temper, something he had wanted since the start of the campaign. Kushala seemed more concerned about Titarri though; she was scared Raiko could easily come off as condescending, given the youth of the firebender.

"Why should I give her special treatment?" Raiko had asked during one of their late-night strategy sessions. Kushala had been reclining far back in her chair by that point, her vest unbuttoned and her hair let down. For how long their days were, she always had the infuriating ability to work through the night, tapping into some source of energy that had left Raiko ten years prior.

She didn't stir herself, but her eyes had been as sharp as ever when she responded. "Because no matter what, we can't get away from what it would look like. Titarri is a young, pretty girl, the daughter of a famous councilmen. She grew up in the public eye, and no doubt a fair amount of voters have paternal feelings towards her as well. It would not be wise to tear her down."

"That's not fair," Raiko had said. "She's going to be hitting me with everything she has, and I'm just supposed to swallow it?"

"Disagree and be firm, but don't show anger," she answered. "And worse...don't be disdainful. You can't act as though you think _you're_ better than Titarri, just your ideas."

It was an infuriating distinction, though hardly surprising for Kushala. She had a way of only offering vague suggestions, but saying them with such certainty that Rovrik and Sasros were quick to praise her. Raiko glared at her now, her dark skin eclipsing the ink smear yet again. _I will win this debate tonight,_ he thought. _Not for my campaign, but for you_ . It would be sweet to prove her wrong. If their debate prep had demonstrated anything, it was that Kushala was no more pleased with Raiko's prospects than she had been when he overheard her and Rovrik in the supply room. _I'm surprised they wasted the opportunity to do more_.

Kushala must have seen the malice in his eyes, because she offered a small smile and retreated back a step, before clearing her throat. "I meant to tell you; Mai received a call from Sasros a few minutes ago. Everything is going smoothly at your house, and both Lekh and Ojas ended up coming after all."

The probending stadium had sold out quickly for the second debate. Raiko had thought nothing of it, but Rovrik informed him that there were several prominent businessmen—potential campaign donors—who had not been able to secure a ticket. This was especially true of the businessmen outside the Republic. Raiko had initially been hesitant to seek them out, as much of his campaign had been built on his plans for limited foreign policy involvement. Yet Rovrik had dismissed those concerns with a simple, "money is money. And there's no requirement to disclose where it comes from."

The famously flamboyant head of Varrick Global Industries was among the most promising of potential contributors. There had been worrying reports that he had been in closed door meetings with Xar, yet when Kushala organized a "sit-down dinner and debate screening" event at Raiko's house, he was one of the first to agree to attend.

It was a smart event, even Raiko had to admit. Each person in attendance was to pay five hundred yuans for their plate as a fundraiser. The event was being catered by Kwong's Cuisine, at Buttercup's suggestion. They had also rented a large radio, so that as the guests ate, they could hear the debate.

"The real advantage," Kushala had explained, "is that Rovrik and Sarsos will be there to clarify any questions as the debate is going on, in anyone is confused or concerned about an answer. That way, they won't have to wait until the next day's papers to figure out how they feel."

Raiko hardly thought his stances required much clarification, but he trusted Rovrik and Sasros to steer the conversation in a profitable direction. Once the debate ended, Raiko was scheduled to head straight for his house, where there would be an after party—ideally one that would include endorsements and donations. With the second election mere weeks away, extra money would allow a final ad push that would be sure to secure him victory.

The one downside was that it meant only Kushala and Mai had accompanied him to the stadium, everyone else on his staff either assigned to reporter duty or the dinner. Mai was pleasant enough; the intern was dutiful and efficient. But Raiko's past two weeks had already been characterized by too much one-on-one time with his campaign manager. Buttercup had once joked that she should be jealous. The look of revulsion he responded with sent her into a fit of giggles for the better part of an hour.

He looked at Kushala now; she was not truly unattractive, he decided, though unmistakably Water Tribe. She also seemed to put no effort into appearing feminine, or appearing any way at all for that matter. The ink splotch proved it.

She met his gaze, her dark eyes looking almost black in the dim light. "Raiko?" she asked uncertainly.

He shook his head. _Leave it to Kushala to find a way to distract me five minutes before the biggest event of my life_. "Which one was Ojas again?" he managed.

"The materials manu—" She was cut off by a sudden, booming voice over the sound system.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to our second national presidential debate! Innnnntroducing your candidates... Representing the Bending Heritage Party, Titarri!"

The cheers sounded like a dull murmur from their vantage point. Kushala took another step back, so that she was no longer on the moving platform. "Well, good luck, Raiko," she said, her voice oddly quiet. There was something stirring behind her eyes, but before he could think, the door to the arena raised up, and his platform was shot forward.

"From the People's First National Party of the Republic, you know them as the PNP, it’s Raiko!"

A cheer erupted, along with an outburst of whistling. The flashes from the audience were nearly blinding. Raiko concentrated on nothing but holding on to his railing and waving, doing his best to look as poised as possible. After what seemed like a small eternity, his platform finally reached the center stage, where he made his way to the three podiums in the middle. Titarri was already positioned behind one, her hair down and shining, a bright smile on her face. He made sure to shake her hand and smile warmly. "Titarri, you're always looking well," he told her. _Who's condescending now?_

"I'm looking forward to a spirited discussion," she answered.

He waited for a few more seconds, determined to have the moment caught on camera, before making his way behind his own podium. There, he found a notebook and pen, along with a mug full of water. He smiled to himself. In practice, Kushala hadn't let him take notes, despite his reporter's inclination. With it, tonight would be smooth sailing.

Xar's introduction was met with an impressive amount of cheering as well, but Raiko had a feeling that the audience was more enthused about the event itself than the candidate. Xar was many things—a capable banker, a smooth talker—but he was hardly charismatic, especially compared to his opponents. Meanwhile Titarri was all charm and no substance. _I'm the only suitable candidate; the people will see_.

Never one to be outdone, Xar gave Titarri a kiss on the cheek after he had made his way onto the stage. He then walked up to Raiko, his smile unnaturally wide. "Raiko, old sport, I look forward to finally being able to have a true dialogue."

"I'm sure Councilman Tenzin will be eager to hear his views represented," he answered, all smiles as well.

Xar hesitated, but only for a moment, before taking his own place.

"And finalllllly," the announcer continued gaily, "your moderator, Shiro Shinobi!"

Raiko spotted the announcer in the usual commentator's booth halfway up the arena, but it was the man on the fourth moving platform that interested him more. Shiro had always been known for his spirited probending coverage, yet since the campaigns had begun, he seemed to be taking himself increasingly seriously. At the first debate, his sharp tone had come as a shock to the candidates. Tonight, he seemed to have gone a step further, wearing an austere suit and a pair of glasses that Raiko suspected contained no lenses.

When the platform reached the stage, Shiro gave a small, solemn wave to the crowd, before walking towards the table in front of the podiums. Even his steps were ponderous. _If he’s this determined to have us take him seriously, then he may well be overly strict about limiting our answering time_ , Raiko thought. That suited him fine. He wasn’t the candidate that needed to hide behind flowery prose.

At the table, Shiro took his time arranging a few sheets of papers before finally dragging the microphone towards him. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. The cheers died almost instantaneously and Raiko saw many members of the crowd leaning forward in their seats, as if straining to hear.

Shiro continued, “Before we begin this second debate in our first ever presidential election of the Republic, I’d like to go over the rules.” He lowered his eyes from the audience beyond to the three candidates. “I will be asking the questions. I may also ask ‘could you clarify that?’ if the situation calls for it. Each question will be directed towards one of the three candidates. They will have two minutes to respond. As there are only three participants now, we will allow for three to four rebuttals. I will move on to the next question at my discretion.”

Raiko tried not to smirk at the idea of a probending commentator’s political discretion. He fixed his eyes on him, but Shiro was looking towards Xar. “Rebuttals should be under a minute. Once we move onto another question, we ask that the content of the previous question is not brought up again. Is this clear to the candidates?”

They gave their affirmations in unison. Raiko was amused to see that Titarri had been taking notes. _If she needs help remembering the rules we were given over a week ago, then she doesn’t stand a chance once the debate begins_.

“Fantastic. We also ask that the audience remain silent while a candidate is speaking,” Shiro said, pushing a paper aside. “Xar, as you earned the most votes in the last election, the first question of the night is for you.” He cleared his throat and paused before reading. The audience had grown so silent that Raiko half-suspected some members were holding their breath. “I think what’s on all of our minds now is the conclusion of the Equalist Trials. Xar, in the past, you have voiced your concerns over the composition of the Tribunal judges and prosecutors, due to the fact that they were comprised of non-Republicans, as well as benders. Do you believe that these results of the trials were fair, in light of this?”

Xar took a breath and clutched at the side of his podium, an annoying smile appearing on his face. “First of all, Shiro, thank you for the question, and for moderating this debate. I am truly humbled to be here, before all of you.” He let his words hang for a moment, but the audience seemed intent on following Shiro’s instructions. “To jump right in, I think you may be confusing me with Bahira,” Xar continued with a chuckle. “Though I did speak to the composition of the Tribunal, I never asserted that they were unfit to do their jobs. However, I do not think there’s any great evil in pointing out their inherent perspectives...motivations, if you will.”

Raiko tried to force his face not to smile, as he scribbled down the word ‘motivations.’ _The fool radicalizes himself_ . Xar’s grip on the podium seemed to be tightening. “I do want to commend the tireless work of our world leaders in establishing this Tribunal during a time of chaos, do not get me wrong. However, when we have the strong appointments of proud Republicans such as Commander Bumi or Lieutenant General Rosomi, I can’t help but wonder why a greater effort was not made for a panel that is more representative of _our_ nation.”

From his periphery, Raiko saw Titarri adjust her jacket, her pen lying back on top of her notebook. _Her focus is where it’s always been_ , he thought, amused.

“However, all this being said,” Xar added, “with the information presented, yes, I believe the judges came to the fairest conclusion they could have. It does give me pause that Amon was never caught nor tried for his crimes; that’s a big gap in evidence, and it’s a shame to think if it might have led to others being unduly punished. But I think we can all agree that we are happy to close the book on this chapter in our nation’s history.”

As the audience clapped, Raiko thought through the first sentence of his rebuttal, quickly rearranging words in his head. Yet before he could take a breath, Titarri was already speaking. “One thing that concerns me,” she said, gesturing with her hands, “is that Xar seems to have a limited perception of what the United Republic is, what we stand for. He points to two members of our brave Forces as exemplary citizens, yet they take their orders from a prince of the Fire Nation. This is nothing to bemoan or hide from.”

She directed her last sentence at Xar, who gave the smallest of smirks in return before jotting something down. Titarri turned back towards the audience. “The United Republic is of all the nations; that was Avatar Aang’s vision at its founding. This ‘us versus them’ mentality is inappropriate, because this is the nation that accepts everyone. We should not be worrying about foreign involvement on the Tribunal, but instead be welcoming and feel reassured that the international community is committed to upholding our aims. Perhaps there’s a point to be made about bender participation, but given that the composition was split—”

“Titarri, I’m going to have to cut you off. Xar, your answer to that?” Shiro asked. Raiko tried not to let his anger show. _I’ll jump in after he finishes_.

Xar licked his lips, like a nervous goat dog, before responding. “My answer is simply that Titarri brings up an irrelevant point. Perhaps if we were discussing immigration policy, it would be one thing, and on that, I am quite welcoming of all peoples, in the tradition of our great nation, so long as they follow the proper legal procedures. But we are speaking to the trials of the Equalists—an issue specific to Republic City.” His knuckles were turning white where they still gripped the podium. “You began to point out that the composition was split in terms of bender and nonbender participation, but what could a nonbender from the Northern Water Tribe possibly understand about life as a nonbender in the Dragon Flats? Again, it’s not an evil to point out the limitation in such a background, especially when understanding the context _for_ the Equalist revolution is necessary to a fair process.”

The words had barely left Xar’s lips before Raiko began speaking. “I’m sorry, but are you really trying to argue that one needs to be from the city to understand that the Equalists were over-the-line? That maliciously targeting an entire group, mutilating them, is worthy of punishment? Or is it that you _do_ feel the sentences were not fair?”

Raiko didn’t give the chance for him to reply. “No, Titarri was onto something, though she was not exactly right about the Republic being ‘of all the nations.’ Surely she knows that this city was a specific compromise between the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation. But above all, the founding of the Republic spoke to the compassion of our people. That we could live as one, and intended to do so. Seventy years ago the perceived difference was heritage; today, it is bending abilities.” He raised his fist, his pen in between his fingers, to gesture along with his words, as if it were any other speech. “The fact that Xar thinks of these abilities as being—what were your words? ‘Inherently limiting’?—speaks to an ideology that we, as Republicans, fiercely reject. I empathize with benders every day, though of course I am empathetic by nature. Yet I have to believe any conscientious citizen has this capacity. For that reason, I can think of no reason why the abilities of the Tribunal judges are worth ‘pointing out.’”

“Well,” Titarri said, her voice full of uncertainty, “we at least agree about the compassionate nature of our people. Though I actually _do_ think bending is relevant—”

“I’m sorry, Titarri,” Shiro interrupted. “We have to move on from this question. However, it is for you,” Raiko felt a wave of irritation. First, she robbed him of his applause and now she was taking his question? If they were going by the number of votes, then the second should have been for him. Shiro didn’t even have the decency to look his way before asking it. “Your performance in the first election was certainly admirable, but there are still many voters out there who remain worried about your experience level, particularly with finances. What would you say to assuage those fears?”

“Well Shiro, I may be the youngest on the stage, but I’ve been working and studying nonstop since sixteen. My first job was a Council page, where I got hands-on governmental experience...something few of us in the Republic can say. I’m currently studying law, as has been the case for a number of years.” She paused and lightly brushed a strand of hair away from her face. _Is there anyone who could truly envision her as President?_ Raiko wondered, as she continued. “So really, the question becomes, why is this experience unsuitable? Xar is a strong financier, but can he speak to our legal systems? And while Mr. Raiko does run a successful newspaper, I fail to see how this prepares him to understand our economy, our trade and tariff laws, our current investments, any more than my own background. The fact is, there is no candidate who can know everything, which is why our world leaders were wise enough to set-up and begin the appointments for a ministry. I am the first to admit where my knowledge is limited, and I expect I’ll have no trouble bringing the Minister of Finance into the room when the time comes.”

Raiko spoke over the applause, though it proved no difficult task, thin as it was. “Ladies and gentlemen, you just heard a candidate for the presidency admit that she fails to understand how owning and operating a business prepares someone more than her legal classes.” He turned and looked towards her as he continued, “It’s filing corporate taxes, Titarri. It’s being responsible for pensions. And I should point out that there is no better job to have in order to stay informed with the needs of the people than a job within the media industry.” He looked back beyond Shiro, to the audience. “There will be a Ministry, but we need a President—”

“I’m going to agree with Mr. Raiko to a point,” Xar’s voice cut in. “But—”

“Excuse me,” Raiko said, trying to keep his voice calm. “You’ll have your chance for a rebuttal.”

“This isn’t your question,” the banker insisted snidely, “and I’m agreeing with you that your expertise is certainly more in-depth from a financial standpoint. However, there is the fact that the President will be in budget talks with this new Assembly, and I do think I’m the only person with a suitable breadth of knowledge in this regard.”

“But then who among the Assembly is ‘suitable’?” Titarri jumped in. Raiko stared incredulously at Shiro, but his eyes were fixed on Titarri, watching with mild interest as though he saw this every day. “No one can govern in a void, and we will all be relying on experts at some point. I’m not trying to—”

Raiko saw Xar opening his mouth from the corner of his eye and cut Titarri off mid-sentence, determined not to let his real opponent have more of a say. “No, we can’t govern in a void, but if Xar wants to tout his expertise with investment, then it should be noted that I am speaking as someone who has been on both sides of the pay envelope, something he has not. I offer the most complete knowledge of the private sector. Our innovators and business owners have always been the pride of the Republic—”

“We _all_ have strengths and weaknesses,” Titarri insisted, sounding almost hysterical.

“Folks,” Shiro said loudly into his microphone, “I love this enthusiasm, but we need to follow the rules. Mr. Raiko, the third question is for you. A few newspapers have run negative editorials on you, some even citing cut-throat business tactics. Given this animosity within your own sector, is this something the people of the United Republic should be worried about, especially given that the President will need to be working closely with the Assembly to see laws through?”

The question was past idiotic, surely even Shiro Shinobi could see that, but Raiko forced himself to give his most charming laugh before answering. “I do believe my colleagues have a flair for the dramatics. Simply put: this is business. I turned a dying paper into a success. That was my job; not making friends with my competitors. However there are plenty of others who will speak fondly of me and my track record, my employees especially. When it comes to the Assembly, this criticism—if you can call it that—is not applicable. My competitors and I are inherently opposed to one another, seeking to capture more of the market. The Assemblymen and myself, however, will have a common aim: the good of the Republic. And it is too that ‘good’ I’m most interested in speaking—”

“Competition in business is natural,” Xar agreed, suddenly speaking, “but animosity is not a foregone conclusion. I have numerous colleagues at other financial institutions, but we’ve managed to keep a friendly working relationship.”

He paused to take a breath, but Raiko refused to let him continue. “Are you sure of that, Xar?” he asked. “After all, you seemed to feel your relationship with Master Tenzin was one thing, but he said something else to the papers the following day.”

A few audience members gasped, though Raiko heard laughs as well. Xar looked as though he had just been given a glass of sour milk.

“Well, I don’t want to speak to that,” Titarri said hesitantly, “but I do think there’s something to be said, as Xar was beginning to suggest, about how one conducts oneself, even in a hostile environment. The President of the Republic will be in tense situations, both with the Assembly and with any international affair. We want someone who has a tendency towards cooperation. We can’t afford to make enemies right now.”

“What we want,” Raiko said with mounting annoyance, “is a President who is not afraid to stand up for his beliefs. After all, this is the _only_ political office elected by every citizen of the Republic. They deserve a man of his word—a man of action.” He cleared his throat and forced another smile in Shiro’s direction. “However, my co-candidates are speaking to a problem that simply does not exist. With the exception of a small handful of men jealous of my success, I have no enemies. In fact, though we of course are not required to disclose this, based on contributions to my campaign, business owners have by in large, embraced me.”

It wasn’t a lie; every day more donations seemed to flood in. Kushala always found a way to play down any excitement, usually pointing out that based on the number of ads, his campaign funds were likely equal to that of his competition. Yet the Labor Party had more members, and the Bending Heritage Party was backed by Republic City’s elite. _And I have some of the most powerful business men in my home as we speak. They’re probably already opening their checkbooks_ , he thought, as Shrio told the candidates that he would need to move onto the next question.

In the end, he was proven right. The debate went better than he could have expected; he didn’t push Xar to losing his temper, but instead, the banker seemed to grow increasingly quiet as time went on. Titarri, on the other hand, took to raising her voice more and more, to the point where Raiko half-expected her to burst into tears. After grudgingly congratulating him, Kushala spent the caride to his home muttering her concerns under her breath to Mai. Yet once they walked through the door, it was obvious that they were unjustified.

They were greeted with a cheer, the mood almost electric. Raiko spent the next two hours in what felt like a whirlwind, shaking hands and receiving praise from more men than he could count. Buttercup stayed by his side the whole time, laughing loudly at everyone’s jokes. From what he gathered in the few seconds between introductions that they had to talk, the entire night went smoothly, from start to finish. Buttercup always seemed the happiest to be playing host, and it showed. It almost made Raiko feel guilty for pulling her away from her Peach Blossom Society, but he was about to make her the First Lady of the Republic. Surely that would please her.

Rovrik had quickly steered Raiko towards Iknik Varrick first. The man was eccentric and unabashedly Water Tribe, but his successful business record could hardly be denied. He made a generous offer on the spot, putting to bed Kushala’s fear that he had already donated to Xar’s campaign. _Though I’m sure I convinced men to switch sides with that performance_ , Raiko had thought.

The night’s second-largest contribution came from a man named Lekh, who was some kind of real estate mogul. He and Rovrik seemed cut from the same cloth; he was soft-spoken, but there was a keenness to his gaze that told Raiko he was not one to be crossed. After asking a few specifics on property and corporate taxes, Lekh had told Raiko that he’d be happy to make a public endorsement. “If Xar has his way, we’ll all be paying through the nose,” he had remarked.

By the time his last guest left—a restaurateur named Samir—his right hand had gone numb from shaking so many hands. It didn’t matter; Sasros was grinning more broadly than Raiko had ever seen, and Rovrik assured Raiko that the contributions had exceeded their most optimistic predictions.

“If you don’t mind, though,” Rovrik said in the foyer, after Buttercup had closed the door behind the caterers. “I hate to keep you up, Raiko, but I think Kushala, Sasros, and I would benefit from discussing the next steps.”

Raiko looked in her direction, where she seemed to be talking intensely with Jian. “Yes, I suppose that’s fine.” He turned towards his wife. “Do you mind, Buttercup?”

“Of course not, darling,” she answered. “Though you do know I’d have you all to myself if I could!”

Rovrik laughed. “You are a gracious host, Buttercup, and I can’t thank you enough for your help tonight.” He took her hand in his and kissed the back of it.

“And you are too kind,” she answered.

Raiko put his arm around her. “Hopefully they won’t keep me too long. Rovrik, would you like me to thank the staffers?”

“Kushala can do that,” he said, dismissively. “I’ll grab her now. Where would you like to meet?”

“My study is fine.” Raiko answered. Once Rovrik had walked off, he looked at his wife again. “Are you sure you don’t mind? You must be tired after tonight. Please don’t wait up on my account.”

“I won’t, dear, I’ll be getting ready for bed. I just worry that they’re overworking you!”

“It’s not long now,” he said, pulling her into a hug. “A few more weeks.” _And then we’ll have even less time for each other, I imagine_.

The way Kushala talked, however, Raiko would have thought the election was the next day. No sooner had the four of them filed into the office, then she began speaking at an almost frantic pace. “Our first priority needs to be pushing for those public endorsements from your contributors,” she said, crossing the room and hopping onto the desk, as if it were her own. “This will solve two issues; one, if there are still concerns about your ability to make friends, they’ll go away. I thought that was one of your weaker answers.”

“I pointed out that it was irrelevant,” Raiko shot back, opening his cabinet and removing the bottle of shochu.

“Well your remark towards Xar wasn’t exactly nice,” she said.

Rovrik leaned against the desk, though he kept his feet on the ground. “What is the second issue that this would solve?” he asked, looking up at her.

“Titarri,” Kushala answered.

Raiko set four glasses on the table and poured the alcohol into three of them. “Kushala, I don’t have anything to cut the shochu.”

She turned to see what he was doing and shook her head slightly. “Neat is fine.”

“What about Titarri?” Sasros asked. “She backed away from her new spiritual platform tonight, but doesn’t that make her an easier target?”

“Yes and no,” Kushala answered, as Raiko handed out the glasses. “It was a surprise. But we needed to prove to the people voting against Xar that Raiko has a better chance of winning. I don’t know if that was fully accomplished tonight…” She bit her lip and looked at Rovrik.

“But certainly the public support of key business leaders will demonstrate their faith in Raiko’s ability to defeat him,” he finished.

She allowed herself a sip. “Exactly.”

“How do we ensure this?” Sasros asked.

Raiko frowned. “Many of them outright told me that they’d give an endorsement.”

“Yes, but time is of the essence,” Kushala pointed out. “Raiko, I know we have other events, but I think it’s crucial for us to schedule one-on-one meetings with key contributors over the next couple of days. We’d only need about five strong endorsements to set the tone, but to be secure, we’re looking at...at least ten meetings?”

“I should be speaking directly to the people,” he said. “There’s little time left.”

“In this case,” Rovrik said quietly, “these endorsements are what speak to the people.”

Sasros clapped Raiko on the back. “Besides, now that money is no object, we will be buying up the airwaves. Make no mistake; the people of Republic City will be hearing your words everywhere they walk.”

 _The truncated introductions were bad enough_ , he thought. Though it was preferable to kissing more babies. “If you say so. Do you need my help setting up these meetings?”

“I can handle it,” Kushala said. “However, past that, I also think—”

“Kushala,” Rovrik interrupted, holding up a hand. “That’s actually why I wanted this meeting. I definitely want your focus to remain on Raiko’s campaign, but we need to keep in mind that there are other PNP candidates to worry about.”

“The Assembly?” Raiko asked. He swallowed a significant portion of his drink and set his glass on the desk, a few inches from Kushala’s thigh. _I wonder if she’s sitting on top of any important papers_.

Rovrik’s mouth twitched. “Well, yes. The way I see it, there’s no reason why you can’t campaign along with others. The voting districts are spread out, so it would ensure that even the people in less-populated areas get to see you.”

“And you think it’s wise for the other candidates to become so...linked to Raiko’s platform?” Kushala asked slowly, her eyes narrowing.

Rovrik met her gaze, but it was Sasros who answered. “I think we have a winning message coming out of tonight, so long as we keep it simple. We’re friendly to benders, we believe in concentrating on the Republic first and foremost—on taking a step back from international affairs—and we want to grow our industry. The people are sick of Fire Nation troops in the streets, you know?”

“I suppose so,” Kushala said slowly.

“I don’t think I know many of these candidates,” Raiko said.

“We’ll only worry about the High Council seats,” Rovrik assured him, waving his hand. He set his glass down as well, though Raiko noticed it was largely untouched. “There’s few enough, and I’m sure Kushala can brief you beforehand.”

“I’ll need to talk to Choden first thing tomorrow then,” she answered. “Juggling the endorsement meetings with this will be difficult.”

Sasros nodded. “He lives in my building. I can give him a heads up tonight when I get back. No sleep for us staffers,” he added with a laugh.

“For any of us, Raiko, most of all,” Rovrik said.

“I’ll be fine,” he answered. “Is there anything you need me to do to prepare?”

Kushala took another sip of her shochu, nearly emptying her glass. “If you could draft a few different speeches that center around introducing candidates. We’ll want the press at most of these, it sounds like, so you’ll have to avoid repetition. I’m sure Sasros and Hema can work on alternate copies too.”

“Of course,” Sasros answered happily.

“I can start on that tomorrow morning,” Raiko said. He was beginning to feel his weariness setting in.

Rovrik smiled and stood up straight. “Excellent. I simply wanted us to be on the same page for this end push. However, we should probably leave you to it. It seems it will be a busy day for us tomorrow.”

“I’ll certainly have some press-wrangling to do,” Sasros said. Rovrik gave a small laugh.

Kushala set her glass down and gracefully slid off the table as Raiko shook hands with the two men and thanked them. “If you don’t mind, Raiko, I’d actually like to quickly go over a couple answers from tonight.” She turned towards Rovrik. “You don’t need to be here for this; simple platform clarification.”

“Very well,” he answered, giving her a small kiss on the cheek. Sasros merely inclined his head. Raiko made to follow them out the door, but Rovrik stopped him. “No, don’t trouble yourself. We can find our way out.”

“Goodnight, then,” he said.

When he turned back, Kushala was helping herself to a small sip out of Rovrik’s drink. He struggled not to roll his eyes. “Is this entirely necessary tonight? We discuss my platform every day, and the debate is behind us.”

She put the glass back on the desk and stared for a moment before answering. “You said you were going to begin working on the introductory speeches tomorrow morning. For you, that usually means breakfast, and I wanted to make sure of a few things.”

“Is this where you tell me that you found my performance tonight to be an uncompelling disaster, or do you save that for the supply closet with Rovrik?” He didn’t know if it was the shochu that was making him speak so frankly, but somehow seeing her make herself at home in his office filled him with the urge to shout.

Kushala’s face barely faltered. “Raiko, there’s still plenty work to be done, whether you care to admit it or not.”

“I’m the hardest worker; when have I ever shied from that?”

“When it involves taking criticism? Almost always.”

Raiko felt heat rushing to his face. “ _Your_ criticisms, Kushala. I’ve heard you all along the way...doubting my speeches, disagreeing with my positions, saying I couldn’t court Pundarik.”

“You didn’t!” she answered, taking a step towards him. “Pundarik’s block is still up for grabs. We’re just lucky Titarri bungled her approach.”

“I’m not some poodle pony that can be trotted about to fill your every whim. I’ve run my campaign the best I could with a manager who seems determined to sabotage me.”

Kushala laughed. “Sabotage? Do you know how hard I’ve been working behind the scenes? How much I’ve done with the press? I was the one who prodded them towards Tenzin, you know. I’m the one who got you through tonight’s debate!”

“Well which is it, then?” Raiko asked, turning to face her squarely. “Do you want credit for my success, or do you want to pick apart my performance because that’s the only way people like you can feel important?”

“I want to do my job, Raiko. You’ve never made it easy, I’ll grant you that, but this is something new.”

“Well maybe I am simply sick and tired of having to deal with your objections at every turn! You’ve never believed in me, and you’re so determined to be right that you won’t allow yourself to see differently.” _I fought too long to be here again_.

Unlike his mother, Kushala at least had the decency to seem offended by his accusation. “You think _I’m_ the one who can’t be wrong? Everything I do, everything I tell you, it’s to get you elected. I’m sorry it so clearly makes you uncomfortable, but I happen to know what I’m talking about.”

“More than me?” Raiko felt his lip curl.

“Yes. This is what I’m qualified to do.”

He snorted. “Oh of course, I’m sure you showed Rovrik your many qualifications from your knees.”

Kushala’s face twisted with anger. “You...how dare...” They locked eyes and for a moment it seemed like she might slap him, but instead she shook her head and exhaled. “You are _pathetic_ , Raiko. You know that? Hilariously misguided and pathetic.”

“And you are fired.”

She laughed, still shaking her head. “Of course I am.”

“This is no joke,” he said irritably. “The PNP will do as I say.”

“Oh, I know,” she said, holding up a hand. “They’re married to you, there’s no mistaking that. Their _fearless_ leader.”

“I will not be spoken to in my own home like this. Get out.”

“I couldn’t be happier to.” Kushala turned on her heel and strode across the room, but hesitated when she reached the doorway, looking back. “You are a fraud and a small man, and the public will never elect you as President.” With that, she left.

The front door slammed, but Raiko didn’t move for another minute. Then he emptied the contents of his glass in one swallow—or perhaps it was Rovrik’s—and strode out of the study as well. He threw the chain across his door, realizing his anger was causing his hand to shake. After a few steadying breaths, he headed upstairs to his bedroom.

Buttercup was seated at her vanity table, brushing her hair when he walked in. She was already in her silver, silk bathrobe. If she had heard the screaming, she didn’t show any indication. “There you are,” she said, making eye-contact through her mirror. “I was beginning to worry there wouldn’t be time to celebrate your wonderful performance.”

There was no mistaking what her tone meant, but Raiko was hardly interested in his current mood. “Just last-minute strategy. I’m going to begin campaigning for some Assembly candidates.” He sat on the edge of the bed and untied his shoes.

“Of course you are” she said soothingly. “They all know you’re going to win.”

He loosened his necktie. “I fired Kushala.” _Why am I telling her this?_

Buttercup turned around in her seat, looking confused. At last she managed, “I’m sure you’ll get an even better manager now.”

“Perhaps, though it’s quite close to the election.” Raiko rose once more to take off his belt. She stood as well and walked over towards him, reaching up to unbutton his shirt. He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Not now.”

“What’s wrong?”

He took a few steps away, but turned back, considering her. “You think I can win this?”

“I think you _will_ ,” she said with a smile.

He began to move towards her again. “You don’t think I’m a fraud?” he asked, punctuating the last word by grabbing her wrist.

“You’re the most honest man in the race.”

Raiko struggled not to roll his eyes. “Are you sure?” He jerked her arm behind her back and pulled her close.

Buttercup blinked a few times, hesitant. “I’m…”

“Maybe you’re not sure...maybe you think I’m something else?” He could see her breath getting faster, but she still seemed as though she were struggled to understand. “Why don’t you tell me what I am?”

“You’re...you’re a...” He moved his face closer, as if to encourage her. “A fraud?” she managed at last.

Raiko kissed her on the mouth, hard. When he pulled away, she tried again. “You’re—a fraud who’s not going to win!” He moved down to kiss her neck and took satisfaction when he heard her moan.

“What am I?” They moved towards the bed, where he threw her onto the pillows.

“A fraud,” she said again, sounding almost proud. He pulled on the tie of her bathrobe until it opened, and moved his hands inside.

“Am I pitiful?”

“Yes! So pitiful! And...and weak!”

“Maybe you should slap me.”

She did, but softly; not quite the effect he had been hoping for. Instead, he moved to kiss her mouth, her neck, her shoulder. He could hear her breathing get louder as moved down to her breasts, and then her stomach. “You’re...a weak fraud,” she murmured.

Raiko pushed her legs open and paused. “And?”

Buttercup arched her back slightly in anticipation. “And a sham.” Her words quickly turned into a shuttering moan.

After a few moments he stopped, looking up. “Am I a small man?”

“The smallest,” she gasped. Her legs closed around his neck as he bent back down, her skin feeling as though it were on fire.

For a few minutes, she didn’t speak at all, only offering heavy breaths and moans. However, when she did try again, her words sounded jumbled. “Yes—I mean, no, you’re...you’re just small...or, weak and—“ Her body gave a small shutter. “You’re so...weak and...pathetic.”

Raiko could wait no longer. He propped himself up with one hand, while fumbling to push his pants down with the other. Buttercup wrapped her legs around his waist, and screamed when he entered her. When he finished, he rolled off of her, more spent than he ever had felt before.

She turned on her side and put a hand on his chest. “Dear, that was—”

He sat up before she could finish speaking, but kissed her forehead. “I’m glad. But there’s a lot I have to do tonight, I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” she said, sounding deflated. “You have to work now?”

He climbed out the bed. “Yes, I’m afraid so; there’s speeches to write. But first, I need a shower.”

As Raiko headed toward the bathroom he realized that for the first time in months—for the first time since he announced his candidacy—he almost felt happy. _I will be the president_ , he thought. _And she’ll be my first call when that day comes_.


	17. Tenzin VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the final election drawing near, Tenzin considers his future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **disclaimer: what is referred to as 'platinum' in this universe is [equivalent to our titanium](http://lokgifsandmusings.tumblr.com/post/160705261613/serious-lok-meta).
> 
>  **Candidates for Presidency**  
>  -Titarri, Bending Heritage Party of the United Republic  
> -Xar, Labor Party  
> -Raiko, First People’s National Party of the United Republic (PNP)  
> 
> 
> * * *

 

> _“The average citizen of a democracy is a goose-stepping ignoramus and poltroon; the average democratic politician, of whatever party, is a scoundrel and a swine.”_
> 
> -Mongang, Republic City Sun

 

“No, the Hog Monkeys won’t have a chance this year. Biyu still hasn’t recovered from her fracture, and I heard the Catgators were looking to poach Moxi,” the short, plump man said, stroking his moustache.

His tall companion was leaning back in his seat, legs on the table. “The _Capital City_ Catgators? How is that even allowed.”

“There’s no rules, I tell ya. I bet none of the Hog Monkeys are from Harbor City.”

“Who would _want_ to be from Harbor City?”

Tenzin cleared his throat, not for the first time since being sat down some twenty minutes ago, but the two detectives took no notice. Aside from them, the station was utterly empty. Even though Lin had expanded her force, between Izumi’s troop withdrawal and the election mere weeks away, the police were still as overburdened as ever.

The detectives, however, seemed less-so. Tenzin supposed that there was little two nonbenders could do by way of security, but with the continual accusations of fraud peppered into campaign speeches, or the fact that multiple triad members had been caught trying to work at polling locations or in the offices of certain Assembly candidates, he would have thought there would have been investigative work to be done.

 _They’re new hires_ , he had reminded himself, after he was treated to ten minutes of them playing a game where they’d each take turns drawing a line on a piece of paper. It had been Izumi who suggested to Lin that she promote nonbenders to positions of prominence, as that would help combat the negative image her metalbending force had taken under Chief Saikhan. Yet politics or not, Tenzin could not imagine what had possibly compelled Lin to give detective jobs to these two men.

“Did I ever tell ya I once dated a dame from Harbor City?” the short one was now saying.

“Is that right?”

“Let’s just say all that cold weather must leave them with a healthy appetite.”

The taller one laughed and tipped his chair back even more. “I can’t imagine there’s much worth eating down there.”

“Depends on how you feel about a little saltiness,” he replied with grin.

Tenzin could take no more. “Excuse me,” he called. They turned and both blinked at him, the taller detective’s chair wobbling dangerously. “Do you have any idea how much longer this will be?”

“Chief Beifong’s in a meeting,” he replied, as though this were new information.

“Yes, but with whom? And when will it end?” Tenzin had told Lin the day before that he would be coming by at one o’clock, and it wasn’t like her to completely ignore an appointment, even with him.

“We’re not at liberty to say,” the short detective answered with a menacing smirk. He held eye-contact for a moment before opening a drawer and pulling out a jar. “Want any fire gummies?” he asked his colleague as he helped himself to a large handful.

Tenzin groaned and pressed two fingers to his temple. He couldn’t think of any meeting Lin might have where his presence would be inappropriate, not that pointing it out was likely to sway these men. In fact, Tenzin couldn’t even think of what this meeting might be. Lin was rather famous for hating that aspect of her job. Whenever the Council needed her, she used to make a habit of showing up in the middle of their sessions and demanding that they immediately discuss the business pertaining to her. “I’m a cop,” she used to tell them, “The sooner I’m back in the streets, the better.” Tarrlok had always found it incredibly amusing, often times jokingly threatening to hold Lin to a double session. Though Tenzin couldn’t help but feel as though the jokes were aimed at him just as much, what with their history.

Still, Izumi had confirmed Lin’s distaste for meetings, spending the past few months frustrated that the Chief of Police wasn’t willing to provide her with weekly security briefs. “I fear we’re not efficiently using our resources,” she had complained one day. “How am I supposed to give my troops orders with incomplete information?”

“Well maybe,” Unalaq had answered with his usual sneer, “the noble Chief doesn’t want Fire Nation soldiers knowing everything about Republic City’s security.”

Izumi had scoffed at the suggestion, though Unalaq’s words had left Tenzin feeling anxious, as always. He knew the Fire Lord only meant well, but was it truly necessary for her to be quite so involved?

Unalaq’s parting words did little more to put his mind at ease. The Chief of the Water Tribes had gone back home to the North Pole nearly a week ago, only bothering to inform Tenzin two hours before his departure.

“But…there’s still the second election,” Tenzin had argued, watching incredulously as Unalaq placed items into a trunk. “We have the ballots to distribute.”

“Surely there’s someone else in this city you can trust with the task,” he had told him. “It’s hardly a job for us.”

“The city is currently looking to us to lead. The new government will not convene for over a month.”

Unalaq had stopped what he was doing and faced Tenzin at that. “To lead what, exactly? Face it, our job is done. The constitution is drafted, along with that framework for the Assembly to create their own standing rules, the United Forces have reassembled back in the city, and the Fire Lord has seen to the appointment of at least half the Cabinet. Or is it more by now?”

“We’ve only appointed ministers critical for the day-to-day governance of the Republic,” Tenzin had protested.

“So you say. Or so she says, more like. But my point remains: there is nothing further for us to do. And it certainly does not need to be my job to go running to each polling location again. I have my own nation to attend. As do you.”

His words had felt like a punch to the stomach. “Well so does Izumi, but she’s been adamant that we stay until the results of the election are in.”

Unalaq gave a disinterested flick of his hand and turned back to his trunk. “Why that tyrant does what she does is beyond me. I can’t think of a single reason we’d need to, though of course I don’t have to organize a troop withdrawal of great magnitude. I’m sure that will take her some time.”

“She began that process weeks ago!”

“Tenzin,” he had replied in a patronizing tone, “I have no wish to see any hostilities with the Fire Nation. Perhaps she’s as convinced as you that there are _crucial_ tasks remaining. But I cannot continue to take part, nor be away from my people any longer.”

It had been an effort for Tenzin not to shout. “The second election is going to be ten times more complicated than the first, what with the Assembly races. And more importantly, we can’t have anyone doubting in this process anymore than they already do. I may sleep in my own bed, but I’m away from my family as much as you. I’m relying on my eleven-year-old to lead airbending exercises!”

Unalaq had turned to look at him once again at that, a closed expression on his face. “If you’re unable to give the Avatar the attention she deserves, perhaps she could travel to the North with me. I’m sure you’re aware of my connection with the spirits. Now that she is tapped into her own energy, it would be a perfect time for her to expand that knowledge.”

 _Does he think I don’t know this?_ Tenzin had thought. “The Avatar must master all four elements first. Her airbending training is far from complete.”

“Training you just admitted that you can’t see to.”

“I can after the election. And I’m perfectly capable of teaching her what she needs to know.”

Unalaq’s face gave a small twitch. “I see you and my brother are still adamant as ever to hide her from the world.”

The door to Lin’s office suddenly crashed open, bringing Tenzin’s focus back to the present. The taller detective had to grab onto the edge of the table to prevent his chair from falling over. Lin came storming out followed closely behind by Hikaru, the newly appointed Minister of Transport.

“You two,” Lin barked at the detectives, “didn’t I tell you to pull the files on the Agni Kais?”

“Sure, boss, we just wanted to make sure you meant _all_ the files?” the stout man answered timidly.

“Now!” They scurried towards the door with no further comment.

Hikaru looked awkwardly around the room and gave a start when he spotted Tenzin, rising from his chair. “Master Tenzin!” he called, bowing. “I did not expect to see you here.”

“Oh...well…” he started, for a moment almost feeling as though he were the one who needed to explain himself. He shook his head. “I’m just glad to see you’re getting into the swing of things so quickly.”

Lin folded her arms. “Yeah. This one’s going to be pretty active.”

Hikaru smiled. “Well, it was certainly lovely meeting you, Chief,” he told her. “And Tenzin, always a pleasure.”

Tenzin gave a small bow as he passed. Lin barely waited for the door to close behind him. “So who do I have to thank for these damned bureaucrats? You or Izumi?”

He adjusted his robes uncomfortably. “At least you won’t have any more Council meetings, right?”

She snorted. “Figured it was her.”

“What did Hikaru want?” he asked, trying to change the subject. Izumi had argued that the Minister of Transport would be necessary given the mess the city had become during the first election, but Tenzin hadn’t expected the man to make any meetings on his own accord in advance of the president taking office. Even the Minister of Foreign Affairs hadn’t done that.

“Mostly to tell me how to do my job. As if I don’t know the streets.” She waved a hand after seeing the look on Tenzin’s face. “I think he was just trying to impress me with his knowledge. Had I known how long he was going to talk, I wouldn’t have agreed to see him today.”

“It’s alright,” Tenzin answered, before realizing that she might not have been apologizing. He cleared his throat. “Do you, um, have the ballots then?”

“They’re down the hall in a closet.”

“Are they...safe?” he asked apprehensively. She glared, but said nothing in return.

When the reached the closet, Tenzin could see why. There was a series of three padlocks, each with a separate key. He hung back while Lin opened them, but he could tell even from his distance that they were made of platinum. “You’ll have to stay alive until the election then,” he offered lightly, as she removed the last one.

“What?”

“I meant...you’re the only one with access...so..." his voice trailed off, but Lin mercifully rolled her eyes and turned her back to him without another word.

The closet was filled with filing boxes stacked to the ceiling. Lin drew out her metal cables and bent them around a box near the top, which she proceeded to yank down in one quick, jerking motion. It thudded to the ground unceremoniously, barely missing Tenzin’s foot. “Well, here they are,” she said, retracting the cables and folding her arms once more.

Tenzin stooped down and took off the lid, removing a single ballot inside. “Ah,” he said, quickly scanning it, “this is for the seventh district in the second province.” He looked back to the top of the stack with uncertainty. “You have these all organized?”

“Of course I do.”

“And uh...your forces are clear on where to distribute them?”

She glared at him. “I told you I drew up a map already. I thought you just needed to check if they were printed right.”

“I do,” Tenzin conceded. He knew Unalaq was only being peevish about the ballot distribution, but it did seem like an awful lot of work for him to take on again, especially since most of the voting had gone smoothly in the first election. There was one polling location that had trouble with their counting process, but the new, standardized ballot would surely fix that.

Tenzin examined it. It was exactly as he had pictured: subdivided into three boxes for the three different races in each district. Inside each section, the names were listed in a single column, each with one circle to their left to be filled in. The instructions clearly stated that the voter was to choose one circle for the presidential election, and no more than two circles within the High Council and Council of Delegates boxes. There was even a spot for the voter to write any name for the Council of Delegates, something Izumi had suggested.

“Well, this looks good,” he said. “Assuming that the names were printed correctly in each district. But the poll workers will be checking for that, I suppose. What do you think?”

He held the ballot out for Lin, but she simply leaned over to read, her arms remaining folded. “Looks simple enough. But what if people fill out all the circles?”

“It says ‘vote for no more than two’ in the directions.”

“The law says ‘don’t steal,’ and yet I manage to arrest people for that every day.”

“I don’t know! If a ballot is filled out incorrectly, it will have to be thrown out,” he answered, frustrated.

She gave a half-shrug. “I guess that’s the point of poll workers: to explain this.”

“Yes, the ones at my polling place did well last time. How about yours?”

“I wouldn’t know; I didn’t vote.”

Tenzin took a step back and looked at her in disbelief. “You didn’t? Why not?”

“I was busy making sure riots didn’t break out,” Lin answered.

“Well...are you going to vote this time?”

“Not sure. Can’t say I’m fond of any of the presidential candidates.”

“But who would you support?” He asked before he could stop himself.

She didn’t seem to mind, simply letting out a sigh. “Well, Xar would probably want to put me out of my job, the way he talks.” She took the ballot out of Tenzin’s hand and bent to replace it in the box. “Raiko acts as though he knows how to do my job _for_ me... I think he’d be the equivalent of fifty Hikaru’s. And Titarri’s too green to be of much use.” Lin suddenly flicked her arms, and cables sprang forward from her sleeves, attaching to the box once more. As she moved, it was hoisted high into the air, landing right back in its place. She turned towards Tenzin again before the stack had stopped wobbling. “I guess Raiko, but he doesn’t always make sense when he talks. Maybe it’d be better to take the gamble with Xar. I don’t exactly _want_ to vote for either of them, though.”

Tenzin frowned. “But there’s the Assembly votes too. And this is your chance for you to have your say.”

Lin motioned for Tenzin to step back and closed the door. “Maybe not everyone should have a say,” she said, throwing the padlocks into place.

“What do you mean?”

When she turned, something in her face had changed. He couldn’t tell whether it was exhaustion or fear. “Amon rose because of me. I mean, sure, our parents dealt with Yakone, but I let the triads get out of control.”

Tenzin fought the urge to put a hand on her shoulder. “Lin, no, you just—”

“Don’t try to make me feel better! The people wanted a revolution. A revolution, Tenzin. And I was stupid enough to think we could catch him before it went too far.”

“It was Tarrlok leading that charge, not you,” he said, shaking his head. _And I was the one who couldn’t convince a single Council member to vote against him_.

“I’m the Chief of Police. I failed the nonbenders for years, then I failed everyone else when I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t even keep your family safe.” Lin was trying not to cry, Tenzin could tell. He had come to know what that clenched jaw meant years ago. He wondered if this was the first time she even had vocalized anything like this.

“You gave us more of a chance than we would have had,” he offered. “You’ve always made the best choices you could. The city was changing faster than we could adapt. The Council failed everyone far more. That’s why this election matters so much.”

“And that’s exactly why I think I shouldn’t vote.”

Tenzin found Lin’s words hard to shake. Even a few hours later, when he poured over the section of the newly drafted constitution that formalized the Assembly’s powers for what must have been the tenth time, he would hear her voice pop into his head as he reached the end of each paragraph. By the time he reached the language about bills that appropriate public revenue needing to originate in the Council of Delegates, he gave up.

 _It’s already been ratified_ , he told himself. He flipped to the page containing the four signatures: his own, Fire Lord Izumi’s, Chief Unalaq’s, and the Earth Queen’s. They had needed to arrange for a courier to travel to Ba Sing Se, but Izumi had been adamant that it was “done right.” Somehow, Tenzin had the suspicion that Hou-Ting had not even bothered to read it.

He sighed and rolled up the scroll. He knew he ought to sit down with the Minister of Public Safety—the minister Izumi had promised would be the last to be appointed prior to the election; three more ministers had followed. Tenzin could hardly begrudge any of them; the city seemed to be calming down, especially with the trials over, and it was quite the relief to not have to focus on so many details. Min herself was quite suited to her position; a few days ago there had been reports of violence at one of Xar’s rallies, and in the meeting that followed between her, Tenzin, and General Iroh, she seemed to know exactly what questions to ask. Tenzin had been meaning to follow-up with her since, but the day already seemed to be weighing on him.

 _One more day won’t make a difference_ , he assured himself. The monks always said that a distracted mind couldn’t hold knowledge, according to his father. _I’ll head downtown early tomorrow to make up for it_. Maybe it would even be a good thing to head home so soon, he tried to tell himself; he could lead his children and Korra through meditation for the first time in weeks.

Oogi had barely touched down on the island before his younger daughter came running up to him, brimming with excitement. “Daddy! Daddy!” she called. “Uncle Bumi is going to stay with us, he says!”

Tenzin fell gracefully to the ground and bent down to put an arm on his daughter’s shoulder. “Yes, Ikki, he’s been staying with us for the past few months,” he answered, confused. Behind her in the practice yard, he could see Meelo and Jinora clapping at their uncle, who was in the midst of a headstand.

“No, staying for _good_ ,” Ikki clarified.

“For good? No, once the election is over, I’m sure the fleet will be back to sea.”

“But he quit!”

Tenzin could hardly understand what she was saying. He stood back up and took his daughter’s hand, leading her over to where Bumi was still upside-down.

“Dad! You’re home early,” Jinora said once he greeted them.

“Uncle Bumi’s been like this for ten minutes!” Meelo said. “His face is turning redder than yours!”

Bumi laughed, though Tenzin could hear him straining from the effort. “Ol’ Turnip? Not possible.”

“Bumi, stand up right! We need to talk,” Tenzin said.

“Oh come on! I’m going for a record.”

“Yeah,” Meelo added. “Let him go for the record.”

His frown deepened. “There is no record! Jinora, please take your brother and sister to the gates.”

“No fair, Daddy!” Ikki protested.

“This is not a discussion!” Tenzin said, feeling his face grow red in spite of himself. “Bumi, stop that now! And where’s Korra?”

Bumi let himself crash unceremoniously to the ground. “Gee, someone must have been a rough day.”

“Korra just left to go downtown. Mom said she could,” Jinora answered. “She’s going to meet up with us there for dinner.”

“In the city?” Tenzin asked, confused.

“A celebration,” Bumi said, standing and brushing off his pants. “For my retirement. Steamed vegetables aren’t going to cut it. I need some meat.”

“Can _we_ have meat, Daddy?” Meelo asked.

“Airbenders are vegetarians, Meelo,” Jinora answered impatiently.

“If Rohan’s a nonbender, will _he_ eat meat?” Ikki chimed in.

“No one’s eating meat!” Tenzin insisted. “Kids, please, your uncle and I need a word. If you practice the gates now, you can have the rest of the afternoon free.”

“Race you!” Ikki shrieked, quickly making an airscooter and jumping on.

“Cheater!” Meelo cried, doing the same. Jinora sighed and followed on foot.

“What, am _I_ in trouble?” Bumi asked once they were alone. “You’re not Dad, you know.”

Tenzin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course you’re not in trouble. I just don’t understand—you quit?”

“Retired, Tenzin. You may have heard of it?”

“This just seems sudden. You complained about getting pulled out of action to be a judge. I thought you’d be eager to get back.”

He shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. “I’m getting old. Maybe it was because I stayed out of action too long, but as it drew closer and closer, the idea of going back exhausted me. Especially with this new president and everything. Seemed like a good time to let somebody else step-up.”

The idea of his brother aging was unsettling to Tenzin. Despite having ten years on him, Bumi always had a vigor to him that Tenzin envied. It was hard to shake the image of the strapping man in his twenties, muscled and ebullient, speaking of adventures in the far reaches of the world when Tenzin had barely earned his tattoos. Yet looking at Bumi now, his stomach spilling over his belt, the expression on his face looking so much like Meelo after a scolding, Tenzin couldn’t help but wonder if it was the right call. “I had no idea you felt that way,” he said, awkwardly.

“Neither did I, until I had time to think,” Bumi answered. “Realized how much I preferred spending time with your kids. But look on the bright side: now there will be plenty of time for us to hang out too.”

Tenzin furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re kind of retiring too, aren’t you. No more Council, this election is almost wrapped up... It will be the two brothers, at it again!” Bumi put his arm around Tenzin’s neck.

“I’m not retiring!” he said, shaking him off. “I’ll still have to consult on political matters, I’m sure. And I have to teach the new Avatar airbending!”

“Korra seems pretty good at it to me. And Jinora’s been a great teacher.”

“She is the Avatar. She can’t be ‘pretty good’; she has to be a master!”

“That’s what I meant,” Bumi said, sounding defensive. “She looks as good as Dad ever did.”

“You’re untrained, Bumi, you wouldn’t know.” His tone was harsher than he had intended, and his brother seemed to shrink before his words. “I just mean...there’s the spiritual side of airbending for Korra to learn as well. Only I can teach her that, not Jinora. And with the election, I haven’t been able to give her the attention she deserves.”

“Well I’ll help! I’m a great motivator.”

Tenzin forced himself to take a breath. “I’m sure you are. Maybe you could also give Kya a hand with Mom for a bit.”

Bumi frowned slightly. “I thought we were all going down for that festival in a few weeks. Are you trying to get rid of me already?”

“It’s in a couple of months. And it was just a suggestion.” The Southern Water Tribe’s Glacier Spirits Festival would certainly be a large distraction from Korra’s training, but Tenzin had already promised her that they could go. _And my mother_. He could feel himself beginning to worry about the limited time in between the presidential inauguration and their departure date. “Bumi, I’d like to go meditate. We’re going to town for dinner?”

“Don’t worry, I picked Chameleon Bay Bar. Plenty of vegetable dumplings and noodles for you.”

“Will it just be our family?”

“Korra’s going to bring that boyfriend of hers, and maybe his brother? I’m assuming Asami is coming, though haven’t seen her today. Oh, and I invited a couple of my army-mates, of course.”

Tenzin was in no mood to socialize, but he could hardly ask them not to attend. “Does that include Iroh? Or his mother?”

“’Zumi?” Bumi asked with a laugh. “I want tonight to be fun, you know.”

Izumi did have a way of making Tenzin feel on edge, even if he usually agreed with her. And the last time The Fire Lord had dinner with them had hardly ended on a positive note. “I just wanted to check. I’ll be inside the temple for the next couple of hours.”

“Alright, but we leave at six sharp!” Bumi said.

Tenzin's head was pounding as he ascended the stairs, yet once he reached the top floor, he forced himself to light incense sticks. Aang used to say that they allowed for deeper meditation. It had been some time since Tenzin truly lost himself, and he was desperate for any help.

Yet even his elementary breathing techniques did nothing to clear his mind this time. He could still hear Lin’s ‘ _that’s exactly why I think I shouldn’t vote_ ,’ but it was now interspersed with thoughts of Bumi’s retirement, of Unalaq’s sneering words of goodbye, even of the constitution’s prose, though it was Izumi’s voice he heard reciting it. He soon had to give up trying, instead, opting to open his eyes and watch the afternoon sunlight slowly fade through the small windows in front of him. Some impulse kept him glued to the knotted rug, not that any revelation was likely to come to him.

After what must have been at least a half an hour, he heard the door creak slowly open. “Pema?” he asked, quietly. His children were unlikely to be so cautious, and the acolytes rarely approached him in the temple.

“Sorry,” she answered, “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Were you in the Spirit World?”

Tenzin felt a lump rising in his throat. “No...you’re not interrupting.” He couldn’t bring himself to turn around, but Pema crossed the room and sat next to him all the same.

“I take it you’ve heard your brother’s news?”

“His retirement, yes,” he answered. “I can’t believe he’s walking away like that.”

“Well, he has been a commander for some time,” she said. He could feel her eyes scanning his face.

“It’s just...” Tenzin met her gaze. “I thought he really loved it. Dad was so proud of him the day he left to join.” He could still picture the tears in the Avatar’s eyes. “I always thought Bumi found his calling—defending Dad’s city.”

Pema furrowed her brow. “But he was going to retire at some point. Why not now?”

He looked away once more. “Well...with the election... _I’m_ not going to be governing anymore.” He hesitated for a moment, aware of how childish his worry would sound. “It feels almost as if, you know, we’re both abandoning Dad’s vision.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Pema said, putting a hand on his back. “You’ve done more for the Republic than anyone else. The election is _because_ of you.”

“Is that a good thing? I don’t know if this is what Dad would have wanted. When things got tough for him, he found a way to work through it. I feel like I’m passing the problem to someone else.”

“That’s the _solution_ ,” she said, cupping his cheek with her other hand and gently turning his face back towards her. “Tenzin, nonbenders need a voice in this city. We all need a voice. Your father did something that had been impossible for thousands of years: he created a place where people of all nations could live in peace. And he did it because that’s what the _people_ wanted. How many times has your mother told us the story of Yu Dao?”

“But this election...everything I’ve worked to do...it just feels as if we’re creating more and more issues,” he explained. “There’s citizens who are color blind _and_ illiterate, Pema. It’s always something.”

“I’m not sure I’m following,” she replied slowly.

“I don’t know that taking a step back was a good idea.”

Pema laughed lightly. “I’m sorry, but your ‘step back’ has only seemed to involve working overtime. And I’m sure you’ll still be brought on for certain political matters. You’re a world leader, after all.”

“I suppose.”

“From everything I know of your father, _that_ was always his focus. The Air Nation. You’re definitely not taking a step back from that.”

“Well, I can’t,” Tenzin said. “I have to lead; there’s no one else.”

“Exactly. How can you be worried about abandoning your father’s vision when you’re living it?” she asked. “You’re even training the new Avatar, who just made contact with him for the first time. Plus you’re going to be able to give her more attention now.”

“You’re right,” he said slowly. “Maybe I could even take Korra to the Southern Air Temple after the festivals. Or all the temples. We could all go.” It was a small idea, but even so, he felt as though a weight were being lifted off his chest. He and his father used to travel the world on their vacations, making sure to stop at an air temple at every opportunity. Continuing that tradition could only be a good thing. _And maybe I’ll be able to finally channel some of the temples’ spiritual energy, away from the city_.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Pema said. “Give the new government a month or so to settle in, and then set off to guide the Avatar towards becoming an airbending master. It’s exactly what your father would have wanted.”


	18. Asami VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the trials over, Asami focuses on keeping Future Industries afloat.

>   _Big Business, it appears, is in favor with Raiko, and with it Little Business. The fact should be sufficient to make the judicious regard him somewhat suspiciously. For Big Business, in the United Republic, is almost wholly devoid of anything even poetically describable as public spirit. It is frankly on the make, day in and day out, and hence for the sort of politician who gives it the best chance. In order to get that chance it is willing to make any conceivable sacrifice of common sense and the common decencies._
> 
> -Mongang, Republic City Sun

 

Asami felt wetness filling in the fingertip of her glove before any pain, but when it came, the throbbing seemed to extend all the way to her wrist. It didn’t bother her; after being bloodbent, electrocuted, and cut across the stomach, getting a hand caught within a valve train was hardly worth attention. It was the engine itself that interested her more. She didn’t take her eyes off of the tappet she had just replaced, as she absentmindedly pulled off her glove and put the injured finger in her mouth.

“There’s no reason this shouldn’t work,” she muttered, ignoring the unpleasant, iron-like taste on her tongue. The camshaft was secured by the cylinder block, and the tappets were carefully placed in between that and the pushrods. Still, the rocker arm above the cylinder head was failing to actuate the valve, despite Asami having spent two hours taking it apart and putting it back together. “Everything’s where it needs to go.”

She had half a mind to walk away, her irritation climbing. Yet an air-cooled engine was the only thing she saw as having a chance to save Future Industries; there wasn’t any other path forward. Asami wondered if she’d have to be present when the bankers came to repossess the company. The only thing worse than the idea of failure was the idea of seeing them again.

She shook her head and looked angrily at the dizzying array of metal components. _Too many components_. No wonder it was failing. _Perhaps there’s a way to actuate the rocker arms without pushrods...it’d reduce the weight too_. Asami unhooked several pieces attached to the valve she had been working on, suddenly wondering if she could just use the camrod directly. She would have to move it above the valves, which would in turn require a larger cylinder head, but that would simplify the entire valve train.

After detaching the rocker arm, Asami walked over to her work table and set it down next to her notebook along with her glove, a smear of blood glinting off of the cast iron. She picked up a pencil and began to sketch, almost feverishly. This design could be the solution she had been looking for, but it would require the manufacturing of new components, and time was of the essence. Each day that passed without anything to show for her efforts was another day closer to bankruptcy.

She was on her third diagram when she heard the steel door open behind her. She turned to see Chogyal, one of the few program engineers she had left. She had known him half her life, ever since her father had deemed her old enough to steer the forklift. Chogyal had often been the one instructed to look after her while her father attended his important meetings. _Were they meetings with Amon, even then? Would Chogyal have known?_

Her face must have betrayed her sudden suspicion, because when he spoke, his voice was full of uncertainty. “Asam—Miss, uh, Sato? Quan was looking for you. There seems to be a meeting of some kind upstairs.”

“He asked for me? Do you know what it was about?” Asami couldn’t imagine why her Director of Risk Management would have need of her. All she ever seemed to do was sit and nod at meetings, pretending to understand the what was being discussed. She was sure everyone could tell.

“I’m not sure, but he did say you were needed.”

She stood, pulling off her left glove as well and dropping on top of the other. She wouldn’t have time to change into any sort of formal attire, but the least she could do was leave the worst of the grease stains behind. Her cut, at least, seemed to have clotted. “Thank you, Chogyal. How is the mecha suit repair coming?” With the call to decrease production on the lines, Asami had made sure that attention was given to any manufactured, yet damaged goods. They were as worthless as scrap unless the time was spent to fix them.

Chogyal gave a shrug, a tight expression on his face. “They’ll be up and running. We’re keeping on schedule.” An uneasy silence seemed to spread between them.

“Is there something else?” Asami asked.

“I—no.” His grey eyes found her schematics. “That’s for the biplanes?” he asked.

“Yes, this air-cooled engine design is nearly complete. We’ll have a new fleet in no time.” It wasn’t quite a lie, but sounding enthusiastic was still a difficulty all the same.

“Oh... Good. Um, I know Quan was in a rush, when I was told.”

“Yes, of course,” Asami said, almost too embarrassed to meet his gaze. Chogyal was a loyal employee—loyal to _her_ , even—and that only made the deception worse. He seemed to be staying only out of a genuine desire to see Future Industries succeed, but surely he wouldn't let himself go down with a ship if he saw the signs that it were sinking. “Thank you,” she managed, turning and fleeing the room before he could say anything else in his dejected tones.

She rushed up the stairwell, despite having no real desire to reach her destination. She half-suspected that her company would run a lot smoother if people didn’t demand her approval. Anytime a decision needed to be made, Asami felt as though she were flipping a coin. It was her managers with the experience—all she understood was engineering. Yet in absence of a CFO, an Inventory Manager, and a Vice President, the expertise of her staff only extended so far.

She had done her best to fake her way through the decision to focus on an increased, temporary cash-flow in order to pay off her company’s financial obligations. At the time it had almost made sense. _Maybe I can do this_ , she had thought. Yet the time it had bought her had all but dwindled away, and Future Industries was facing yet another quarter in the red. The company wouldn’t last much longer, unless she could somehow make the new engine work. She had to make it work.

 _‘Inventory and shipping,’_ Asami could hear Kayaktuk saying in his bored tones. Inventory, she had tried to fix prior to receiving her father’s warning. But it wasn’t enough. And there were hardly any shipping merchants champing at the bit to partner with Future Industries. Who would bother offering a dying company a reduction in prices? “It didn’t work, Dad,” she said to the empty stairwell. The last word echoed off of the walls. She felt a wave of sudden anger for even considering his advice. Her father’s conception of business seemed to have revolved around illegal sales of weaponry to underground criminals. Future Industries’ success was built on nothing but lies. If she couldn’t restore it on her terms, what was the point?

 _The point is that it’s all I have_. More than once she had tried to imagine what her life would be without the company, yet she always came up blank. Even her involvement with Team Avatar hinged on her providing technology; it was not as though Korra had need of a nonbender. Amon had never been entirely wrong about their place in the world, though that thought only furthered her feeling of disgust.

Asami took a minute at the top of the stairs to collect herself, trying to don the face of someone whose company might see the next fiscal year. However, judging by the reactions of the three men waiting for her in the conference room, she had not been entirely successful. Isao, the Administrative Project Manager, nodded his head in her direction, his mouth growing tight. Tadao, the Plant Manager for headquarters, gave an obsequious smile, though his eyes were cold, almost angry. Quan merely twirled a pen in his hand.

“Ah, Miss Sato, there you are,” he said, as if he were her boss.

She had disliked Quan the second she began working with him in the few short months since she took over. He made it abundantly clear that his only reason for staying on was that he was too close to retirement to bother searching for another job. “I have the savings, should that day come a couple of years earlier than planned,” he had told her pointedly. However, he had also requested a pay raise, insisting that the new stress accompanied with the company’s downturn was such that he might be inclined to retire early anyway. Asami had no other choice; she was already having enough problems trying to find a new CTO and CFO, and certainly couldn’t afford for anyone else at the director-level to leave. The pay increase was a drop in the bucket for the bottom-line, and she had to believe that keeping the position filled paid for itself.

“Gentlemen,” she said with a smile, taking a seat at the oval table. “Chogyal said you needed me. May I ask what this meeting is for?”

Quan’s eyes narrowed. “We need to discuss our property leases. I had told Anju to arrange your calendar for this.”

“I’m sorry,” she said automatically, regretting the words the instant they came out of her mouth. She doubted her father apologized to his employees very frequently. “Product innovation can be quite consuming.”

The three men seemed determined not to look at one another. Isao put his hand down on top of one of the many papers laid out on the table. “Yes, well, as you know in our effort to cut down on excess inventory and reduce operational costs, we’ve been slowing the manufacturing of many of our lines.”

Asami managed to keep a smile on her face, though the statement was so obvious that even Bolin would have assumed it. “I’m aware, and as a result we were looking at consolidating our properties.”

“Yes, closing down facilities,” Tadao said rather pointedly. His job was secure enough, but Asami suspected that he was friends with other plant managers. She was doing what she could to keep on workers, but even with the high rate of employees quitting, keeping everyone would create redundancies. Future Industries could not afford that; the severance packages alone threatened its solvency.

Quan waved his hand. “Hard choices have to be made,” he said, giving Asami the impression that it was not the first time these two men had discussed this. “The issue, Miss Sato, is that this requires the early termination of many leases, which I’m afraid is proving more costly than expected.”

“The landlords know we’re desperate to break them,” Isao added, “which means they’re slapping us with fees.”

Quan nodded. “Consolidation is smart in the long-term, to be sure, but it’s costing us dearly. We’re working to find subletters in or co-tenants for some spaces, but then this raises issues with our COIs.”

 _Capital of investment?_ Asami tried to hide her confusion. She knew that ‘ROI’ stood for ‘return on investment,’ but leasing facilities was not even tangentially related. “What do you mean by issues?”

Quan pulled a paper towards him. “It’s the language; we can’t open ourselves up to litigation on these by changing the terms. Let’s see...here, ‘pursuant to the terms of this form of certificate, the issuance of the certificate does not itself entitle the certificate holder to any rights under the insurance policy or policies referenced in the certificate, and if any policy referenced in the certificate is cancelled before its expiration date, notice will be delivered in accordance with the policy provisions. Accordingly, unless a policy’s provisions explicitly provide for notice to a party that is also listed as a certificate holder on the certificate of insurance, the insurer is not obligated to notify that party. Therefore, if any party in addition to the first named insured in the policy desires to receive a copy of a cancellation notice in the event the policy is cancelled, that party must be expressly endorsed onto the policy itself as a cancellation notice recipient.’”

“Isn’t that in our favor?” Isao asked.

“No, it continues,” Quan said, clearing his throat, ‘To change terms of the policy itself, an endorsement must be both generated by the insurer, or an agent acting on behalf of the insurer, in writing, and  attached to the insurance policy itself…’ wait, no where is it? Ah, here, ‘A certificate that merely states that the property owner or landlord is a “certificate holder” does not make the owner/landlord an additional insured. Without being named as an additional insured, a certificate holder is not entitled to any rights under the insurance policy.’”

Isao made a grim noise at that, while Tadao shook his head. “Subtenants pose too much risk then. We need to buy out of the contract.”

Asami’s felt her throat tightening. She barely understood even one word in three, though she had at least figured out that they were talking about ‘certificates of insurance.’ “We certainly can’t afford lawsuits right now,” she said, doing her best to sound confident.

“No, we can’t,” Quan answered patronizingly.

“We can’t afford to buy out of the leases either,” Isao said. He turned to look at Quan. “We need Kayaqtuk. He’s not cheap, but he’d be the one to pick apart the lease language, as well as see that amendments to our COIs are in order.”

“No,” Asami said instantly.

The three men stared. Quan softly cleared his throat. “Miss Sato, without any lawyers on retainer, we need to be seeking—”

“Not Kayaqtuk,” she interrupted. “And we’re not going to get out of this with legal loopholes.”

“Your father would have brought him in.”

“My father’s in prison,” Asami said flatly. “Even if a lawyer could sort out the COIs, we don’t have the time to find subtenants.” She made sure to make eye contact with each man. “Who are these landlords? Are they all different? If we work to buy out the leases owned by the same person, perhaps we can come to a better arrangement, especially if it includes consolidation by leasing new facilities.”

“New facilities?” Tadao asked, confused.

“Most of our buildings are what? Seventy-five thousand square feet? If for every three we close down, we open a new facility that is one hundred and thirty thousand, it’s still consolidation,” she explained. “And I’d assume it’s easier for a landlord to rent the smaller spaces. We could leverage that.”

Quan smiled, though there was no warmth in it. “I see you read Lian’s final report.”

Asami was unsure if that was supposed to embarrass her. Before her CFO left, he wrote a summary of suggested financial measures, as she had requested. “I did, and he felt this was a viable solution.”

“He was looking merely at production lines. You’ll note that conspicuously absent from his report was any discussion of early termination fees, nor space requirements. I’m afraid property management is not his area of expertise.”

“No, that’s yours. You would have us bring in a lawyer in the hopes that our landlord’s lawyers did not do their jobs?” She could feel her heart hammering in her chest. _What if he quits on the spot?_ She didn’t know why she was being so insistent; she hadn’t the faintest idea if Lian’s suggestions worked in practice.

Quan leaned back in his chair. “Would you rather declare bankruptcy? That would certainly release us from our obligations.”

“I would rather follow the course of action I suggested,” she said firmly. “I have to assume we have the same landlord for at least a few of our properties.”

“We do,” Isao confirmed. “Luava is the manager of several; Lekh of even more, though he may be more formidable than she is.”

“I wouldn’t assume that,” Tadao said. “Luava handles the lease for this building, and she’s far from lenient when it comes to walk-throughs.”

“But it’s _Lekh_ ,” Isao insisted.

Quan looked as though he had just eaten something sour. “It’s the missing files again,” he said, leaning on his arm, two fingers on his temple. “Miss Sato, your father kept detailed records of his correspondences with everyone: suppliers, customers, investors. If we are to pursue this course, then we will need to understand our company’s history with these property owners. However, they seem to be among the files displaced during the police investigations.”

“I’ve been through my fa—my office before,” Asami said.

“I suggest looking again,” Quan pressed. “Or else Kayaqtuk is sure to be the safer bet.”

 _Even if I find nothing, Kayaqtuk is never setting foot in Future Industries_ , she thought. Though she had a feeling where the files might be. “I’ll see what I can do. Until then, please work on developing a recommendation about which leases we should break, and which we can leverage.” She rose from the table, hoping that made her sound authoritative enough,  yet Quan’s parting “Very well” was full of contempt.

Asami left the room and headed for the east stairwell, where she climbed another flight towards her office. She knew her feet were going on the wrong direction, away from any possible answer. _Maybe I did overlook them_ , she told herself. _I had only been searching for financial records_. Still, the factory office contained mostly project files, scrapped schematics, and engineering reference books. There was only one place her father would have kept records of any company correspondence, and it was a place she had no desire to visit.

She crossed the floor, trying to ignore the empty secretary’s desk. Anju had been missing for the past week, and Asami was too scared to ask anyone if she had quit. It seemed unlikely; she had always been devoted to Hiroshi, and from what Asami could tell, that had transferred to her as well. Yet if even Anju was willing to to take an out...

Asami unlocked the door to her own office. She moved to the nearest file cabinet, withdrew several folders, and carried them over to her desk, where she set them down with a thud. She then took off her heavy leather jacket, a fresh oil stain showing on the maroon, and draped it over the back of her chair before sitting down herself. There, she leaned back, her fingers gripping the wooden frame, and stared at the files. Time and space seemed to fade, and she let her gaze slip out of focus. She could hear a distant hammering somewhere in the depths of her factory, and feel the warm, afternoon sun streaming through the window behind her. Even her head seemed empty; the only thing she registered were her breaths.

Tears began to fill her unblinking eyes until finally, she couldn’t ignore the stinging. She hadn't the faintest idea how much time had passed, but once she had been brought back to the present, a wave of guilt came over her. _If only my employees could see their fearless leader now_. It was almost comical. She sighed and pulled the top folder towards her, rifling through the pages within. It contained schematics for an older Satomobile model along with a series of hand-written notes.

She spent the next good hour removing folders from the cabinets at random, all the while becoming increasingly more frustrated. _What is wrong with me? I’m know I'm wasting my time_. She had just upended a folder containing nothing but materials sheets for different steel grades onto her desk, when she heard a knock. Standing in her open doorway was a delivery boy, no more than a few years older than her, with a long face and unkempt hair. He carried a lumpy package and a clipboard. “Uh...Miss Sato?” he asked, uncertainly.

“Yes?”

He crossed the room. “Sorry, wasn't sure. I got a delivery and need you to sign.” He placed the package down on the desk in front of her and began fumbling around his jacket with his free hand.

Asami watched his awkward movements, oddly transfixed. She didn’t know if it was because he was standing so near to her, but she suddenly found herself fighting an impulse to touch his arm. She wondered what he would do if she grabbed him and pulled him on top of her. Though it was hard to say if that urge wasn't more the result of her desire to sweep all the files to the ground.

“Here you go,” he said triumphantly, withdrawing a pen and thrusting the clipboard at her.

Asami could barely look at him as she took them. _What is wrong with you?_ He was hardly handsome, his face almost resembling a weasel snake, and he smelled as though he had run up the three flights of stairs. _If he knew what had been going on in your head_ , she thought, signing the paper hurriedly. “Thank you,” she managed.

He left as soon as he had come, leaving Asami more to ponder if she was truly that lonely. _I have no time for this_ , she thought with annoyance. She began to tear open the bulky envelope in front of her. The only people she truly desired were spoken for, and what was the good in dwelling on such things?

The package contained three metal brackets of varying shapes. She hadn’t the faintest idea what product line this belonged to. She knew she could ask Chogyal, but she wasn’t sure if she could stand to see any more quiet sadness in his eyes. There was only one way to ensure she would never see that look again. Sighing, Asami opened her top drawer and withdrew her car keys, before pushing herself out of her chair. She had delayed it too long and now, there was no time left.

The ride to the estate went by as if in a dream. Asami could not recall a single turn that she made, yet somehow, she found herself driving up the familiar, mountain road. When she parked in the garage and climbed out, she could feel her heart hammering. _It’s just a house_. She felt frustrated for her nerves; what could she possibly find that would be worse than sitting through the trials? It was only because she had built it up in her mind, like she did with everything. _I could have brought someone with me_. Bolin, probably, since he would have been the only one to agree without a single question. Or to agree at all. But if she wasn’t at least capable of this, what right did she have to be running Future Industries?

Asami was rifling through her key-chain when the front door to the mansion opened, revealing Daisuke. The short butler looked as proper as always, with his hair slicked into place, his stiff collar, and his tie tightened against his throat. _No one’s been living here for six months_ , she reflected. She supposed it was all he had; the man had been Hiroshi’s butler for longer than she had been alive. But the idea of him waking, getting dressed for his job every morning, perhaps hoping each day would be the one where she returned...it was almost too much. She couldn't tell if she wanted to hug him or run from him.

“Master Asami,” he said, working to keep the surprise out of his voice. “Please come in. May I fetch you anything to eat or drink?”

Her throat felt unnaturally tight. “No, Daisuke, that’s... I’m fine.”

“Will you be staying long?”

 _You mean will I be staying at all._ “I need something of my father's, that’s all. Something for the company.”

His face remained impassive. “Very well. I’ve kept his study clean, I hope you’ll find. The police—they, were not very careful when returning what was taken.”

“But everything has been returned?” she asked.

"To the best my knowledge."

"Even everything that was taken from..." _His workshop—his lair._ Maybe she wouldn't need to go down there. She just wanted company correspondence records, nothing evil.  

Daisuke seemed to understand. “I saw to it myself.”

A cold feeling crept over Asami. It was only natural for a butler to concern himself with his master’s property, wasn’t it? No matter how far underground that might have taken him. Daisuke hardly seemed like the Equalist type, but the man had dutifully served her father for over twenty years. “Thank you,” she managed. “I...um, is his study unlocked?”

“It is, Master Asami. I hope that is acceptable. I assumed there was little need to keep doors locked as of late.”

She stared down at him, at the face she had known her whole life...at the man who had held her hand during her mother’s funeral. _Yell at me,_  she wanted to say. _Tell me that I have to stay or else you’re quitting. Get angry_. Instead, she forced herself to give a small smile, before turning her back to him and heading down the familiar hall.

In some ways, it felt as though no time had passed. She could have easily pretended that it was a day like any other; that she had just come back from a ride on her moped, as she used to do so often. Perhaps one of her father’s fellow businessmen would be over for dinner, and she could show off her knowledge of the newest Future Industries line. But picturing the scene only served to remind her of the last time she actually saw her father, when he was being led away through the back of the courtroom to serve his fifty years in prison.

 _For all I know, he used to bring Amon to dinner anyway_ , Asami thought darkly as she approached the office. The doors were not only unlocked but also open, unlike the last time she had set foot in it. _To defend him_.

She had expected to find evidence boxes, or even police tape, but it seemed that Daisuke had been true to his word about keeping it clean. She crossed the room to her father’s desk, careful to avoid the coffee table placed in between the two couches. She couldn’t help but notice the flowers in the vase that sat on top of it were fresh.

Asami circled around the desk, but didn’t let herself sit. The only time she had ever done so was when she had been younger, back when it had been fun for her to pretend that _she_ was the boss. Once she had even signed her name to a half-completed letter. When her father had found out, he simply laughed and promised that he would mail it as is. “It’s only a matter of time, isn’t it?” he had said. Asami found herself fighting the urge to kick the cushioned chair over, the memory making her want to scream.

The books on top of his desk were of no use; some were engineering handbooks, but most were novels or historical accounts. Hiroshi had always been an avid reader. _When he wasn’t in his workshop designing weapons_. She couldn't go down there...she wouldn't. The information had to be in his desk drawers, where anyone would keep something so mundane.

She stared at the top drawer’s brass handle for a solid minute before getting up the courage to pull it towards her. All she found inside was a protractor, three pens, and a small, unused notepad. The next drawer contained a ledger. Asami picked it up, trying to see if the numbers were familiar to any of the books she had looked over before, but her knowledge of her company’s financials were not strong enough to tell. She tossed it on top of the desk, deciding that she would study it later.

The third and final drawer contained a stack of papers, the topmost showing a colorful picture drawn in a shaky hand. _Could this be where he’d hide something?_ she wondered, feeling sick. Yet when she thumbed through, it was simply as it appeared: a stack of her childish drawings, punctuated by the occasional birthday card. She threw the pages back into the drawer more forcefully than was necessary, and slammed it, two papers getting caught in the process.

There was nothing left at his desk, so Asami moved to her father’s shelves, where she began pulling books off at random and leafing through them, half-expecting loose pages containing company secrets to fall right out. Was it possible the police kept some evidence? _Daisuke couldn’t have known everything to ask for, and any company contacts would be suspect.  
_

Asami’s search became more frantic. She began tossing books over her shoulder as she’d reach for the next, only dimly aware of the thuds when they’d land. Once or twice she almost hit her father’s three models of his early Satomobiles, which he had always proudly displayed on the smaller table in between the two bookcases.

When at last the shelves had been emptied, Asami dropped to her knees to check under the couches. She knew how ridiculous she must have looked, but there had to be answers, there had to be  _something_ in the room. All that greeted her was a spotless rug. With nothing else left, she crossed to the opposite side of the room where a lone, short cabinet sat. She bent down and threw open the doors, but only an empty vase sat within.

Cursing, she stood upright once more and found herself face-to-face with a picture of her mother posing next to a Satomobile. It was in a plain, rectangular frame with freshly polished glass. To its left sat another picture. Asami didn’t need to look at it closely; it was of herself at five, wearing a motorcycle helmet that was too big for her, while her father laughed in the background. She had spent hours staring at both pictures in the years past, trying to recall what life had been like with her mother, back when she thought that was her biggest source of grief.

She stood, breathing in and out for a minute, her fist balled. Then, without thinking, she swept her arm across the cabinet violently, knocking both frames to the ground. Asami didn’t remember the sound of the glass shattering, nor dropping to the floor in sobs, but the next thing she knew, Daisuke was standing over her, a hand timidly placed on her shoulder. 

“I can’t do this, Daisuke,” she choked out. “Everything I’ve done has made it worse. Why am I even trying?” Asami felt his grip tighten, but he said nothing. “It’s what he wanted, isn’t it?” She shook her head and staring at the shards of glass surrounding her. “Dad left me this mess to punish me.”

The silence stretched on for what seemed like a minute. She made no effort to wipe her tears, letting them fall to the floor where they began collecting in a pool. At last, Daisuke spoke, his voice so soft that Asami had to strain to hear it. “No Master Asami. He left you this mess because you are the only one who can clean it. He left you this mess because you are a Sato.”


	19. Raiko VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The results of the second election come in, and the first President of the Republic is decided. Will this fic become canon-divergent? The tension is palpable!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **Original Characters**  
>  -Kushala, Raiko's former campaign manager  
> -Rovrik, the Chairman of the PNP  
> -Sasros, the PNP Director of Communications  
> -Hema, a PNP staffer working closely with Sasros  
> -Mai, a PNP staffer  
> -Jian, a PNP staffer, acting campaign manager  
>  **Candidates for Presidency**  
>  -Titarri, Bending Heritage Party of the United Republic  
> -Xar, Labor Party  
> -Raiko, First People’s National Party of the United Republic (PNP)  
> 
> 
> * * *

>   _After meditation and a prayer of excessive virulence for many days and consultation with all the chief political dowsers of the Republic, I conclude with melancholy the revolting duty of voting for the numskull, Raiko, next week. It is surely no job to lift the blood pressure and fill the liver with joy. Since I acquired the precious boon of suffrage this year, I never imagined having to cast my vote for a worse dub. The hon. gentleman is almost perfect specimen of a 100% of a reactionary-thinker. The operations of his medulla oblongata (the organ, apparently, of his ratiocination) resemble the rattlings of a colossal linotype._
> 
> -Mongang, _Republic City Sun_

 

“Well folks, we’re ready to announce two more Counsellors. That’s right, the Harbor Town province is in; you’ll recall earlier in the night they had a surprisingly strong showing for the Natural Law Party with their delegate races, but the two parties they’re sending to the High Council are going to be—” Shiro suddenly stopped himself and looked across the table, directly at Raiko. The woman standing behind him frowned, her box of magnets still raised in her hand. “Say, Raiko, this must be of particular interest to you. You’re from Harbor Town, right?”

It was all Raiko could do not to frown himself. He had been seated at the table on the raised stage for nearly three hours, and for at least two and half of it, Shiro had barely paused to take a breath. The commentator had dropped his pompous, intellectual act at least, though it served to only expose the event for the spectacle that it was. “I’m not from Harbor Town, no,” Raiko said as pleasantly as he could, “but it’s where _The Republican Star_ is based, and where I spent much of my career.”      

Shiro gave a ponderous nod of his head, but turned his attention to the new note in his hand, given to him moments earlier by one of the five ‘runners’ assigned to the event. Their entire job consisted of radioing polling locations and scribbling down even the slightest news, while Shiro pretended to be the one doing the work. “Well, I’m afraid those connections did not aid the PNP,” the commentator was now saying. “The two Councillors representing them will be from the Labor Party and...the Green Party, for a surprise.” He nodded and the woman withdrew two colored, circular magnets from her box which she promptly stuck onto the large map that sat next to the table.

Raiko felt Xar stir beside him. _If he thinks Harbor Town is enough to save him, he’s a bigger fool than I thought. It’s just because of the damned fishermen coalitions_. He forced a smile. “Well, Harbor Town is quite unique and individualistic. They surely voted for the Counsellors they felt would best represent them, though I do think the voting patterns will look a good deal different from the provincial races to the national presidency. The people want a return to—”

“We will certainly see,” Shiro cut in with a dismissive wave of his hand. “As those listening are no doubt aware, the Office of the President is determined by a simple majority vote, which we are working tirelessly to bring you. In the meanwhile, Harbor City marks the sixteenth province to report back out of a total of twenty one, which means thirty one of the forty two available High Council seats are spoken for...the recount still underway in the Northern Flats for that second seat. So looking at the totals, we have thirteen Councillors for the Labor Party, twelve for the PNP, four for the Bending Heritage Party, two for the Natural Law Party, and now one for the Green Party.”

“Though the Council of Delegates remains much more diverse,” Titarri said so cheerfully that Raiko wondered if she had been paying any attention at all. From what was being said, voter turnout for the wealthier districts had been surprisingly low, especially compared to the activity in the Dragon Flats...activity from the nonbenders. Titarri’s own people had abandoned her, it seemed, not that she seemed quick to grasp it.

“True enough,” Shiro replied into his microphone. “There’s still thirty-three seats of the one-twenty-five to be reported, but it’s looking like no party will get a majority, unless the remaining districts vote unanimously. With close to three-quarters of the votes counted, we are close to bringing you the announcement of our first president! Stay tuned.” The commentator paused a moment before leaning forward. “We’re on commercial for ten if you want to stretch your legs.”

Xar gestured towards the crowd. “What about them?”

“Oh at an event like this they can’t expect constant entertainment. Most are reporters anyway.”

 _Most are here for the inauguration; the only worthwhile part of this_. Still, Raiko didn’t need telling twice. He rose, only then realizing how cramped his legs had become from the hours of sitting in an uncomfortable chair.

He walked stiffly towards the side of the platform, where a hastily constructed stairwell lead to the backstage area. The stage lights barely reached the steps, causing Raiko to slow his pace. He was determined to make it through the event with as much dignity as possible, and tumbling off the stage was the last thing he wanted. He wondered how long it had been since the sun set. _There’s not much longer to go_.

Once safely behind the curtain and out of view of the stands, Raiko took a moment to rub his legs, hoping to get the blood flowing again. He was in fine shape, he knew, yet if the campaign had been tiring, the last few weeks were nothing short of grueling. Surely a young man would be just as weary.

It was Kushala he had to thank for it. She had forced his hand into firing her so close to the election. If he hadn’t been so generous—if he had only fired her at his first inclination—the past month would not have been nearly so onerous. Sometimes he couldn’t help but feel as though it had been on purpose. No employee could expect to call her boss “pathetic” without consequences. _She knew what she was doing_.

Rovrik had taken the news stoically enough, to his credit. Raiko knew that the PNP Chairman’s relationship with Kushala had been more than familiar, yet when Raiko explained the argument, Rovrik didn’t seem surprised. “It’s a shame it came to that,” he had said with a small shrug. “But I suppose there’s no use dwelling on it. I think with so little time before the election it will be too difficult to get anyone new up to speed. Though Sasros, Hema, and I already have too many duties to our other candidates. Jian, perhaps, could take over Kushala’s duties.”

“Mai always seems appraised of what’s happening,” Raiko had suggested.

“Mai resigned,” Rovrik said simply.

That had been hard to stomach; Raiko had always been fond of the intern. Yet it was Kushala who had dug her hooks in, so he could hardly blame anyone else.

In the end, Jian was competent enough, yet the schedule he put Raiko on was far too tight, usually not accounting for the city’s traffic. He also never seemed to have anything of substance to say during press briefings. Raiko found it easier to read the papers himself, and formulate speeches in response, where needed. In fact, directing his own material came so naturally to him, he couldn’t understand how it had been that Kushala presented herself as so irreplaceable to the campaign. It did mean later nights and less sleep, but what was that compared to the presidency?

In some ways, his state of almost-permanent exhaustion helped. The past few weeks had been filled with nothing but stump speech after stump speech for the various PNP Assembly candidates. There, Jian proved his true worth; during each car ride he would review the candidate’s name, whether he was a prospective councellor or delegate, and one unique fact that Raiko could quickly incorporate. Sometimes, Jian would include a detail about what issue was the most pressing for a given district. Yet he never told him what to say, and it was with that freedom that Raiko truly thrived.

The other PNP candidates had come as a pleasant surprise too. Raiko’s business-friendly tax plan had become something of a core tenant for the party, as had his mild isolationist stances. His enemies in the press were quick to call them “insular” and “myopic,” but in each district, the people seemed responsive.

Some of the speeches had proved more irksome than others, such as the one Council of Delegates race in a district heavy with Water Tribe immigrants. Raiko had needed to play up his heritage, as much as it pained him, but he was also able to point to his plans for bender inclusivity, in stark contrast to Xar.

As full and draining as the last few weeks had been for Raiko, it was Xar who was worse for the wear. The Labor Party candidate had a continually sallow look about him these days. It was no wonder; ever since the second debate, he had begun sinking in the polls. It was only a few points, but enough to prove him beatable. The frustrations even spilled over at a few of his rallies, where violence had even broken out. To make matters worse, soon after, Bahira of the Harmony Party endorsed Xar. If there had been any benders still considering voting for him, such an endorsement from someone who was an Equalist in every respect but name would surely scare them off.

Raiko had used that moment to his advantage, declaring in a speech that had Bahira endorsed him, he would have rejected it. Titarri had tried to do the same, though she had hardly been free of blunders in her own campaign. Her largest mistake was thinking she could win over Pundarik’s spiritual block, and then quickly abandoning that platform at the first sign of trouble. The benders _had_ to vote for him; there was no other choice.

He almost wished that he hadn’t fired Kushala, so he could have seen the look on her face when all her predictions went wrong. Not that she would have been likely to admit it. She would have just found something new to worry about, another point of fixation in her determination not to see Raiko succeed.

Yet one thing he could not hold against Kushala: she would have never let tonight come to pass.

The broader strokes had been planned for some time. Months ago, they had been informed that Shiro would be broadcasting the live election results from a stage outside City Hall, and that the winner of the Presidency would make his inaugural address from there as well. They had also been told that Shiro would share a table with the world leaders, so as to free the candidates to watch the results from their party’s headquarters.

But soon after, the Water Chief left the city. Then thanks to Xar dragging Tenzin’s name into the press and the continual discussion of the Fire Nation’s power-grab, Shiro had decided it would be a better idea to shift plans, instead, asking the three presidential candidates to share the table with him. Titarri’s campaign had immediately accepted, which she smartly worked into a speech about her transparency as a candidate. Had Xar placed a phone-call to the PNP, it might have still been avoided, but the fool was asked about it by a reporter the same day as Titarri’s speech, and he agreed to it on the spot. That left Raiko with little choice.

Raiko half-suspected that Titarri was already thinking of her life after her inevitable defeat; perhaps she had hopes of becoming a radio personality. There was little other benefit he could see in it. They hadn’t gone live on the radio until after the polls closed, so it was nothing more than hours of listening to Shiro Shinobi’s inane comments while waiting for the votes to be tallied. Raiko wasn’t exactly nervous, but he suspected time would be passing faster if he had been able to attend the PNP’s party rather than sit and strike up conversation with his two competitors.

To make matters worse, the crowd of people who had gathered outside City hall was growing with each passing minute, and every Assembly announcement would bring forth another flurry of camera flashes. His cheeks had grown numb from smiling less than an hour into the event.

Raiko tried to push the annoyances from his mind as searched for a pitcher of water. The backstage area was nothing more than the narrow space in between the stage’s curtain backdrop and City Hall’s front entrance, with two police road-blocks set on either end. One of the squad’s metalbenders gave Raiko a curt nod as he reached the bottom of the stairs, but said nothing. If the steps had been poorly lit, the backstage was practically cloaked in darkness. Raiko squinted, the imprint of stage lights still swimming before his eyes.

He had half a mind to turn back when a gentle hand found his forearm. “There you are, dear,” Buttercup said. He was able to make out a smile.

“I was looking for water,” he told her.

Buttercup led him over to the table and poured him a cup. “It takes some time for your eyes to adjust,” she said soothingly. “I’ve been back here for a while though.”

“Yes, I’m sorry,” Raiko said. “This must be horribly boring for you.”

Buttercup had been looking forward to attending the PNP party, he knew. “It’s not!” she assured him. “I was out in the crowd for the first hour, but it got too rowdy. I like listening backstage, plus I’ve been having the most lovely conversation with Xar’s campaign manager.” She nodded towards a man standing with his arms folded. He was so short in stature that Raiko might have mistaken him for a child.

 _I suppose there’s no harm in that now_. “Just so long as you’re ready to walk out when they call my name,” he told her.

Buttercup’s smile broadened. “Of course, dear. Though it will be sad for Titarri’s husband. He just ran to the restroom, but I think you two would get along. He’s so nice, it’s a shame he’ll be going home disappointed.”

He had seen the man before, always hurrying after Titarri, as if scared should he fall behind. He did not seem like the sort of person Raiko would care for, but Buttercup had a way of always seeing the good in others. “At least Xar has no wife to be disappointed,” he joked.

“Oh yes, that would be very sad too,” Buttercup agreed.

Raiko set down his cup of water. “I’m sorry, dear, I really should head back.”

“Of course, I just hope you’re able to enjoy yourself out there. This is your night, afterall.”

He smiled and cupped her cheek with his hand. “It won’t be much longer until that’s official.”

As it turned out, ‘not much longer’ was another two hours. The voters in the Stone Fingers elected two Delegates from the Harmony Party, which Shiro felt necessary to discuss for twenty minutes. Then the recount results for the Counselor race in the Northern Flats went to the PNP, causing the commenter to spend another chunk of time arguing with his assistant about whether it was still mathematically possible for a PNP majority in both Assembly councils. After another review about the difference between Counselors and Delegates and their respective roles, Raiko began to wonder if Shiro already knew who the President would be, and was just waiting to announce the results.

By the time Pohai’s votes came in, Xar had lapsed into complete silence, and even Titarri seemed dismissive when Shiro tried to discuss whether Bloc Pohai’s five Delegates and one Counselor would be enough to gain support for separation, offering only platitudes about the diversity of the Republic. It was more or less the same answer Raiko had considered stating if it had fallen to him to field it. _A shame for her that she wasn’t this quick on her feet during the debates_.

“Well then,” Shiro said, nodding towards one of the runners. A boy no older than twenty came forward with a thin stack of papers, which he handed over. “Folks, this is it; you’ll want to stop what you’re doing. We now have over ninety-five percent of the votes counted and can safely predict a winner. Do the candidates have any last statements they’d like to make?”

“I think we’re as eager to hear the results as the good people of the Republic,” Titarri said, pleasantly. Xar nodded and licked his lips, looking as though he might faint.

“It’s the _people_ who are making the statements tonight, not us,” Raiko agreed. It was a line he had thought of several days ago, and he was happy to have finally made use of it.

“Well then,” Shiro said, “For this, I will go to the podium.” He rose and walked beyond the map, where a podium was already set up. Chairs would have to be brought out for the inauguration ceremony. Raiko wondered if that would mean another twenty minute commercial break. _We all know the Fire Lord will take her time to grace us with her presence_.

He glanced to the audience. The crowd seemed to stretch on and on, filling the square. Despite this, there was not a sound, as if everyone was holding a collective breath. Raiko turned to look back towards the side of the stage, where he saw both Buttercup and Titarri’s husband waiting halfway up the stairwell. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. _It’s not nerves; it’s excitement. You have no reason to be nervous_ , he told himself.

Shiro’s voice sounded again, amplified through the microphone. “With fifty-six percent of the votes, our very first President of the United Republic is... President Raiko!”

He barely heard the cheer as he rose to his feet. It wasn’t until he was halfway towards the podium that Raiko realized Buttercup would be walking out as well. He paused to wait for her, only faintly aware of how broadly he was smiling. When she reached him, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and squeezed his arm. That seemed to ground him slightly, and he turned to wave at the crowd.

Shiro motioned for the crowd to quiet. “As you know, folks, we’re going to have the inauguration ceremony right here in just a few minutes. Councilman Tenzin and Fire Lord Izumi will be joining us. But first, words from your President!”

As Raiko took his place behind the podium, the air filled with confetti, though he didn’t bother to look for the source. Instead, he grinned broadly and waved yet again, knowing this would be the shot that made the front pages. Buttercup followed suit. He looked down to see his speech already set for him, the first two pages laid out. He wondered if Xar and Titarri’s speeches could be found within the podium; it would be amusing to read them.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began into the microphone once the flashes began to die down. His words brought forth another wave of cheers. He smiled at his wife before continuing. “First, if we could acknowledge my competitors, Xar and Titarri, for honest, hard, well-fought campaigns. My respect for these two is limitless, and I feel that regardless of votes cast, we can agree the Republic is made better by them.” The crowd roared, but when Raiko glanced back towards the table, he saw that the pair had already been ushered off the stage. He struggled to stifle a laugh.

“A year ago today, this moment was not just impossible, it was nonconceptual. It seems odd, that such a moment was born out of a storm; that it wasn’t until our darkest hour such a path was discovered. Yet here I stand before you, speaking with the voice of the people.” The lights were blinding, but Raiko could still see the movements of the crowd: the furious applause, many even jumping up and down in place.

“We have seen a wrongful passion spend its fury, but we contemplate our Republic unshaken, and hold our civilization secure. Liberty—liberty within the law—and civilization are inseparable. Both were threatened, but we find them now more secure than ever; laws have been rewritten and with them comes the profound assurance that our representative government will be the highest expression and surest guaranty of both.

“Though our nation was born out of the others, with this new government, we should be confident of our ability to work out our own destiny, and jealously guarding our right to do so. We seek no part in directing the destinies of the other nations. We do not mean to be entangled. We will accept no responsibility except as our own conscience and judgment, in each instance, may determine.” He paused to take a breath, realizing that the clapping had died down. _I have their attention now_.

“This is not to say, of course, that our eyes will be blind to a developing menace, or our ears deaf to the call of civilization. We recognize the new order in the world, with the closer contacts which progress has wrought. We sense the call of the human heart for fellowship, fraternity, and cooperation. We crave friendship and harbor no hate. But the Republic, our Republic, the Republic built on the foundation laid by the inspired fathers, can be a party to no permanent alliance. In their wisdom, Avatar Aang, Fire Lord Zuko, and Earth King Kuei saw our unique needs, and it is a commitment to these needs that must drive us.

“The success of our popular government rests wholly upon the correct interpretation of the deliberate, intelligent, dependable popular will of the Republic. After the Equalists, there is only one interpretation. We are ready to encourage, eager to initiate, anxious to participate in any seemly program likely to lessen the probability of war and revolution, and promote that brotherhood of mankind. Because we cherish ideals of justice and peace, because we appraise international comity and helpful relationship no less highly than any people of the world, we aspire to a high place in the moral leadership of civilization. We intend for the Republic to become the unshaken temple of representative democracy, to be not only an inspiration and example, but the highest agency of strengthening good will and promoting accord in the world.”

Raiko turned a page, feeling oddly calm. He wondered what the other world leaders would make of his words. The elections were their idea, after all. Any objection would be nothing short of hypocrisy. He cleared his throat and continued. “Our supreme task is the resumption of our onward, normal way. Reconstruction, readjustment, restoration...all these must follow. I would like to hasten them. If it will lighten the spirit and add to the resolution with which we take up the task, let me repeat for our Nation, we shall give no people just cause to make war upon us; we shall hold no national prejudices that may make war within us; we will entertain no spirit of revenge. We do not hate; we do not covet; and we dream of no conquest. The Equalists made us forget that _this_ is the normal way, but visit the fish markets of Seaside Resort District and you will see what I’ve described. Men rose up who made us focus on our differences, but we Republicans have a far greater deal in common, including a shared vision of peace and prosperity.

“It is true; our Nation’s upheaval has added heavily to our tasks of how we may achieve this. But with the realization comes the surge of high resolve, and there is reassurance in belief in the destiny of our Republic. If I felt that there is to be sole responsibility in the Executive for the Republic of tomorrow, I should shrink from the burden.

“There is no shortcut to the making of these ideals into glad realities. We have witnessed the futility and the mischief of ill-considered remedies for social and economic disorders. But we are mindful today as never before of the friction of modern society, and we must learn its causes and reduce its evil consequences by sober and tested methods. Justice and happiness must be reflected in a greater common welfare. Wealth is not inimical to welfare; it ought to be its friendliest agency. There never can be equality of rewards or possessions so long as the human plan contains varied talents and differing degrees of industry and thrift, but ours ought to be a country free from the great blotches of distressed poverty. We would not have it that we live within and for ourselves alone, but we would have our Republic be self-reliant, independent, and ever nobler, stronger, and richer. Believing in our higher standards, reared through constitutional liberty and maintained opportunity, we invite the world to the same heights.”

He paused before he read the next words on his page, and for a moment, it almost felt as though a lump were rising in his throat. Yet when he spoke, his voice was clear and unfaltering. “I accept my part with single-mindedness of purpose and humility of spirit. With this, I am unafraid, and confidently face the future.”

The crowd burst into applause as more cameras flashed. He could still not make out a single face in the crowd, but in his mind’s eye, Kushala was there in the front row, a single tear rolling down her dark cheek.


	20. Epilogue

The air was warm and thick. Even the breeze on the deck of the ship had a muggy feel to it, and in the distance, the sun was partially hidden behind thin, hazy clouds. Some of the guards had changed into their sleeveless uniforms, but most had left them behind.

“Summer came quickly this year,” a sub-lieutenant suggested.

 _No_ , thought Izumi. _This is a late return_.

For her own part, the Fire Lord was perfectly comfortable in her long robes; any firebender learned to love the heat from a young age. Were it not for what awaited her, she might have even found the day pleasant, the warmth soothing her muscles, the occasional spray from the ocean landing softly on her face. Above all, it was the solitude she enjoyed. Her ship was well-crewed enough, yet when she’d assume her position at the bow, no one dared interrupt her unless there was something to report.

She wondered if it was because they were still surprised to see her. On the journey over, Izumi had ensconced herself below deck in her cabin with Lee, emerging only to dine with the officers. She hadn’t intended for her time with him to be quite so consuming, but it had been some time since they were truly alone together, and there was little she would have been able to accomplish before reaching the Republic City anyway. Even so, she managed to find the time to reread Professor Huang’s _Lessons of the Yu Dao_  despite having memorized it long ago, while Lee teased her from the bed—when he didn't try to wrestle it away from her.  

This trip, there was even less work that could be done. Any letter she might write wouldn’t reach the Fire Nation before she did, and the new President of the United Republic had made it abundantly clear that he had no plans to accept international aid for some time. Yet somehow the idea of facing her nation and explaining her choices seemed more daunting than establishing a new government had been.

Perhaps it had been her reception at Jang Hui Village that fueled this anxiety. Mayor Nayoko had always been quite dutiful, keeping the small fishing town in excellent order. Yet even she worked up the courage to remark upon the reported ‘Fire Nation Takeover’ at dinner. It had been a small thing, but knowing the baseless accusations had followed Izumi home suddenly made her return less appealing.

That night, she ordered her own ship’s captain to set a course straight for the capital.

“But, we’re supposed to be in Shu Jing Village tomorrow,” Hoshi had told her, sounding confused. “And Fire Fountain City by—”

“The rest of the fleet will make the stops,” Izumi said, cutting of the captain. “But our ship is to continue without further delays.” It wasn't until the anchor was nearly lifted that she explained to Lee how he would need to switch to one of the ships in the rear of the fleet. She could sense his disappointment, but he didn't dare challenge her—not on the deck.

And so for five days, Izumi had found herself staring out at the water alone, her hands clasped behind her back, with nothing to do but think. Once or twice she considered writing a letter to Tenzin and sending by way of a messenger hawk, even if it would be faster to wait and call him after getting back. Too many things had been left unsaid between them, or so it seemed to Izumi. She had expected the night of the election to be every inch of the fevered delirium that it was, but in the week that followed, the pair of them had been nearly as busy as when she first arrived in the city, greeted by a scene of chaos.

Each day had brought some new disaster—some misunderstanding of their constitution, or dispute over acting powers—and their first meeting with Raiko had hardly been confidence inspiring. Izumi could not pretend that she had ever been fond of the man during the campaign, but in-person, he was even less appealing. Though he greeted her with smiles and courteous words, it was only Tenzin to whom he directed any questions. Not to mention, the sheer number of them alone made Izumi wonder if he would have been able to pass the same aptitude test the assembly candidates had been required to take.

Her unease was shared by Tenzin, who after the meeting confided that he was considering cancelling his own upcoming trip. “It’s been some time since I’ve seen my mother,” he had begun, “but if Raiko is going to need as much time getting acclimated to his new role as it seems, then I’ll be spending the entire time on the radio.”

“You have a few weeks,” Izumi had remarked, wondering if she was supposed to offer to stay in the city even longer. She was sure Tenzin would never ask it of her, though that only made the thought more uncomfortable.

“But it took us months to get to this point. This trip is for Korra—so she can master airbending; I need to be able to give it my full attention or else there’s no point in going.”

Izumi had forced herself not to react to his words. She always had respected Tenzin, but his refusal, along with Tonraq’s, to allow the Avatar from traveling to Capital City for her firebending training had never sat right. It was hard not to view his planned airbending pilgrimage as anything but hypocritical. “Then give it your full attention,” she had managed. “Your position is now solely to be the leader of the Air Nation. We carefully appointed capable Cabinet members for a reason.”

“I thought we had appointed them because we couldn’t handle day-to-day duties in addition to the election.”

She heard the suspicion in his voice, as she had so often as of late. “Visit your mother, Tenzin,” she had answered, doing her best to ignore it. “Turn off your radios and take the trip. You know that if any true disaster occurs, I’ll help. Unalaq may too even, if the need is dire enough.”

“He did do that much for the city already,” Tenzin had agreed.  

Their conversation had been interrupted by the Minister of Internal Affairs then, but before her departure, Izumi had found the time to invite Tenzin to Bhanti Island, which would be on their way to the Western Air Temple. She knew he would enjoy the Bhanti temple, especially with the herd of bison the tribesmen were raising on its grounds. It would also show Korra a different aspect of firebending. Izumi had no reason to doubt the young Avatar’s prowess, though she often wondered if controlled sparring matches in the South Pole could truly lead to mastery. She knew of the threats Korra had faced at the time, but surely the Fire Nation was just as equipped to offer security as the Southern Water Tribe was. She had once expressed her doubts to her father, but Zuko simply told her to trust in the White Lotus, abruptly ending all discussion.

Tenzin had thanked her for the invitation, but his tone suggested that he was unlikely to take her up on it. She had expected no less; Tenzin was not the type to change plans easily, and he still seemed to be debating the entirety of his trip. It was Raiko’s parting words that had given her more pause.

The President hadn’t walked her down to the docks as Tenzin had, but Izumi had made sure to pay one last visit to City Hall earlier in that morning. It had taken every bit of effort, but she had managed one more congratulations. “It was a hard-fought campaign,” she had told him, offering her hand, “and you well deserved the result. I look forward towards working with you in the future.”

Raiko’s grip had been iron. _Is he trying to intimidate me?_ she had thought, amused. “Hopefully far in the future,” he had answered. “My nation needs to take the time to heal...on its own.”

It had been a struggle not to roll her eyes at his clumsy warning. “I trust you to know what’s best.”

That had seemed to irritate him. “It’s the people’s trust that matters.”

“So it is.” At that, she had turned and left him, not once glancing back.

Izumi was quite certain the United Republic would need the Fire Nation long before she would ever have use of them, so his uncooperative nature wasn’t overly concerning. Yet she did wonder if he might fire her son from his post. It seemed unlikely; Raiko wasn’t exactly a risk-taker, and she knew Iroh was still a popular public figure, even if his sweeps for Amon had been a dismal failure. But if the new President was eager to prove himself...

 _Iroh could come home. Surely he’s learned his lesson_. The prospect filled her with an uncomfortable sense of dread. She forced herself to take a breath, suddenly feeling as though the air were suffocating her. _Any mother should want her son to come back,_ she thought, ashamed.

Before she could consider the matter further, she heard footsteps approaching. She turned to see Captain Hoshi, looking winded and dabbing at her forehead with a handkerchief. “My Lord, we will be at Capital Island within the hour.”

“Thank you, Hoshi,” she said with a smile. Though once the captain turned her back, it quickly fell. Despite being at sea for five days, Izumi felt as though she hadn’t had long enough to prepare. Surely she wouldn’t need to address the public for another day or two, but there was something so _final_ about returning home. As if she could have undone everything on her ship had she so pleased.

Even the final hour of the voyage passed too soon. Izumi did little more than retreat to her cabin, where she donned her crown and mantle, before she felt the ship slow to a stop. She returned to the deck to see the familiar Royal Plaza, Caldera looming behind it. She could tell just by looking at the hazy clouds hovering at its crest that the city would be sweltering. She wondered if Dorisu had given any orders regarding the ice stores.

Down below, the plaza was teaming with life, though it was not quite as full as the day she had departed. She could feel the crowd looking at her, but it was only the group standing at the dock, flanked by guards, that she had eyes for. She made out Makittuq’s broad shoulders easily enough, his hand on the shoulder of Qannik. But it was Eimi, not Dorisu standing next to him, a small child in her arms. Izumi could only imagine where Ariha was. _Dorisu must be in the palace_. No doubt there was plenty of business for her to attend. _But will Dad be with her?_ If anything was wrong with him, she surely would have heard about it.

The ramp to the ship seemed to take an eternity to be fully lowered, but once it was, Izumi forced herself to walk down in as dignified a pace as she could manage. Two guards followed close behind, she could feel them in her periphery, though they may as well have been shadows.

Once she stepped onto the dock, her youngest rushed forward to give her a hug. Eimi was holding Teijo still, but the two-year-old barely squirmed as the two women embraced. Izumi then kissed the top of her grandson’s forehead before turning to face Makittuq and Qannik. She automatically bent down to greet her elder grandson first; he dutifully stepped forward and gave her a quick hug around the neck. “Hi, Grandma,” he said quietly.

“How was your birthday?” she asked.

“He turned six!” said a voice behind her. Izumi turned her head to see her granddaughter running towards her. “ _I_ turned eleven when you were gone, so it’s _my_ birthday we should celebrate.”

Izumi laughed and drew herself up to give Ariha a hug. “Where were you?” she asked, as they broke apart.

“Looking at the sea,” she said with a shrug. “I have to show you what I can do now!”

Izumi glanced from her granddaughter’s excited expression to Eimi, and finally to Makittuq, who was doing his best not to fidget in place. “What you can do?” she repeated, though she kept her gaze on him.

“Hello, Mom,” he said, stepping forward. Qannik automatically fell by his side once more.

“I can redirect lightning!” Ariha announced proudly.

Izumi looked back to her granddaughter at that. “You can?” she asked, trying not to sound horrified. “I wonder, who was directing it at you in the first place?”

“It was Master Sango,” Makittuq answered, sounding defensive. “She said that Ariha is one of her fastest learners.”

“I did it my first try!”

Izumi tried to smile at Ariha, but it took effort. Generating lighting was certainly too advanced for her, but redirecting it at eleven? Iroh had been the only one of her children to attempt something so early, but that was Iroh...

“You should see her, Mom,” Eimi said, laughing. “It’s impressive.”

“I trust Master Sango knows best,” she answered, nodding in Makittuq’s direction.

“Dori said the same,” he confirmed.

“Where is she?”

Eimi shifted her weight to pull Teijo higher on her hip. “She’s meeting with a justiciar,” she answered. “I’m not sure why.”

“ _You_ weren’t supposed to be back today!” Ariha said.

“There was going to be a parade,” Qannik added, looking up at his father.

“There’d have been no need for any of that,” Izumi said dismissively.

Makittuq shook his head. “Still, Dori had planned for you to receive a better welcome than this.” He gestured towards the length of the plaza, where the crowd was waving and cheering from both sides of the road. “You were gone for some time.”

“Hopefully things ran smoothly?” she asked, looking from him to Eimi.

Her daughter seemed to shrink before her gaze. “Of course they did,” she said, suddenly fascinated by Teijo. The toddler gazed back up at her, his blue eyes sparkling.

Of Dori’s three children, Teijo was the one who took after her the most, but he had his father’s eyes, as did his brother. It was only Ariha who had inherited the gold, though that boded well. One day, she would be the Fire Lord, and despite her rounder Water Tribe features, she had the complexion of the royal family.

“Should we go to the car?” Makittuq suggested. “I’m sure Dori will be eager to see you.”

“I want to ride up front again!” Ariha insisted.

Just beyond the line of guards sat an open-roofed Satomobile. _Perhaps it would be wiser to invest in Cabbage Cars_. The Fire Nation had been wholly untouched by the Equalists, but news still traveled overseas.

True to her word, Ariha climbed in the front passenger seat, while Makittuq helped Qannik into his seat. Eimi handed Teijo to his father, to sit on his lap, and made to circle around to the other side of the car. Izumi caught her wrist and pulled her aside before she reached the door.

“What happened?”

Her daughter looked at her for a moment before blinking away and adjusting her glasses. “I... Nothing, it’s nothing. Really, it’s all fine, Mom.”

“Is it my father? Is he okay?”

Eimi met her gaze again. “It’s nothing like that. Just, something small. It’s taken care of, I promise.”

Izumi nodded. “If you say so,” she replied gently. Eimi had always been a sweet child, with an easy grace and quick to laugh. Yet she was still so young, closer in age to her niece than her sister. Sometimes it was hard for Izumi to remember that. It was Dorisu with the mind for politics. Perhaps leadership came the most naturally to Iroh, at least when he focused, but Dori’s careful contemplation had always served the Fire Nation well. Izumi had no reason to doubt that whatever issue arose in her absence had been handled deftly by her eldest.

Izumi circled the car and let Eimi climb in ahead of her, sliding onto the seat next to Makittuq. Izumi took her own seat, and no sooner had a guard closed the door behind her, then they began speeding forward down the plaza.

Ahira waved happily to the cheering crowd, and even Qannik clutched the side of the car in excitement. Teijo simply peered up at his father. “Mom?” he said, as if suspicious.

“Yes, we’re going to see your mother,” Makittuq confirmed.

It was easier said than done. The Royal Plaza went by quickly enough in the comforts of the Satomobile, but once they reached the roads of Capital City, their progress slowed by a half. When they arrived at the base of the crater, the group had to climb out and walk into the gondola for the slow ascent up Caldera. Izumi stood backwards as they rose, watching the city below get smaller, and the view of the ocean expand. On a clearer day, she might have been able to see the Black Cliffs, but the haze had settled on the horizon. Unbidden, she found herself thinking of Lee. The rear of her fleet might well be in Fountain City by now. The idea made her frown, but fortunately the gondola began its descent at that moment, allowing her to focus instead on Caldera City.

The descent was even slower than the climb, but once they reached the ground, progress was much faster. Citizens of Caldera City were used to the royal family coming and going as it pleased, so only a paltry crowd was there to greet her. Another car waiting for them. By this point, Ahira was rattling off every single fact she had learned about the Sun Warriors while Izumi had been away, and Teijo had fallen asleep in his father’s lap. Izumi could feel herself tensing, but as soon as the Royal Palace’s steps came into view, it seemed to seep out of her; Dorisu was standing there, waiting.

“Mom,” she said warmly as the group approached. “You’ve been missed.”

Izumi hugged her. “I’m sure without cause. It seems as though everything has been running smoothly.”

“How’s Iroh?” she asked quietly when they broke apart.

“Well enough. I spoke to him about visiting more, so perhaps you’ll be seeing him soon.” Izumi looked back towards her other daughter, who looked as though she were trying to keep her distance. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said to her, before glancing in Makittuq’s direction as well, “but I do need a private word with Dori. There’s some...official affairs.”

Eimi almost looked relieved. “That’s fine. We have a lunch planned for you in a couple of hours, though. Is that alright?”

“Yes, of course,” she answered smiling. “I look forward to hearing about the decline of the Sun Warriors.”

Ariha frowned. “You know that, Grandma. Fire Lords have to.”

Dori gave her an indulgent smile. “I think it might be your take on it that interests Grandma the most.” Ariha seemed pleased by that, grinning broadly as Makittuq led her away. Eimi took Qannik by the hand and soon followed. Dori turned back to her mother. “Shall we go to your office?”

“It won’t be that long,” Izumi said, as the two began to walk into the palace’s interior. “Where is your grandfather?”

“You know where he is.” Dori turned down the corridor towards the Royal Gallery. It had always been Izumi’s favorite place in the palace.

“Is he well?” Her father’s last letter had been shorter than usual.

A guard nodded at them as they passed through the gallery’s entrance. “Princess; Lord Izumi.”

“Hello Bunko,” Dori said. They strode a few more paces before she answered her mother’s question. “He is. Though he’s been taking to the balcony even more than usual.”

Izumi could feel her stomach twist. “Why shouldn’t he? It was his city.”

“Yes, but that can’t be helped. There was a revolution.” Dori paused by the portrait of Sozin and studied her mother. “What are these ‘official affairs’?” Izumi could hear the humor in her voice.

“What was Eimi avoiding telling me?”

Dori’s smile fell. “What did she say?”

“Very little, that’s the problem. There’s something that happened while I was away. Something you didn't write me.” It wasn’t a question.

“It was...” Her daughter sighed. “Eimi was more upset by it than was necessary. Dad came to the palace, that’s all.”

Izumi could feel her mouth tightening. “Your father was here? For how long?”

“Not long, really. He came a few weeks after your departure, and he went back as soon as we received word that Unalaq had left Republic City.”

“In case I decided to do the same, no doubt.”

Dori gave her an imploring look. “I think he’s lonely,” she said softly.

Her words were like a knife in Izumi’s stomach. “He can stay any time he pleases, he knows that.” She had hardly made it welcoming for him, she knew, but that did not justify such an underhanded visit. “Did he try to sit in on any meetings?”

“You know I wouldn’t have let him.” Dori’s voice had an edge to it. “He mostly spent time with his grandchildren. I can’t fault him for that.”

 _Is this how petty I’ve become?_  “No, I wouldn’t want you to,” she agreed, wishing she had never asked in the first place.

“You should talk to him. I think… He’s changed. Like I said, I think he’s lonely.”

“In Fire Fountain City?” Izumi said, before she could stop herself. She sighed and shook her head. “Ignore me. What’s between myself and your father should stay there.”

Dori’s eyes scanned the length of Sozin’s portrait. “It’s fine,” she said at last. “I know it’s complicated.”

 _Thanks to me._ She put a hand on Dori’s shoulder. “I know everything was in good hands while I was gone. I’m sorry.”

She met her eyes. “No...don't be. You needed to know about this.”

Izumi nodded. “I should go to the balcony; I’m sure he’s waiting.”

“I can confirm that,” Dori said smiling. “He missed you quite a bit.”

“I was away too long,” she answered with a sigh. Her father wasn’t exactly a frail old man, but leaving him for months at a time felt irresponsible.

Dori looked as though she wanted to object, but thought better of it. They left the gallery together, but her daughter soon branched off find her husband, while Izumi turned right to the familiar spiral staircase. A guard at the top bowed deeply before opening the metal door.

Lord Zuko sat at the far end of the pai sho table, his eyes firmly fixed on Caldera City below. He held a cup of tea in one hand, which he rested on the arm of his chair. Absurdly, the sight of him made Izumi feel nervous. She could feel her heart beating faster as she took her own seat.

“I read President Raiko’s inaugural speech in the papers,” he said casually. “I’m afraid I didn’t have the pleasure of listening to it as it was broadcast. I’m sure it was more impressive to hear.” When he looked her way, Izumi saw the amusement in his eyes.

It was hard for her to find any humor in it. “You mean you weren’t stirred by his proclamation that the Republic will become the ‘moral leadership of civilization’?” she asked.

“Is that such a foolish thought? There was a time Avatar Aang and myself may have felt similarly.”

Izumi sighed. “Raiko does not have half the character you do.” _Or intellect_.

Zuko scanned her face. “And yet, he won over a nation.”

She could think of nothing to say to that. It was true that the voters must have found _something_ appealing about him, though she suspected many of his supporters may have simply disliked the other candidates more. “It's the will of the people,” she agreed under her breath.

“With direct elections, you’ve ensured the will of the people will always be represented.”

Izumi squirmed in her chair. “It was not just me.”

“That’s not how the papers made it sound.”

“And you believe them?” she asked, watching him closely.

Zuko sighed and turned his gaze back to the city. “During the Harmony Restoration Movement, all I wanted was to wear the crown without becoming my father. I knew the war had been wrong, so I ended it. I knew creating the colonies had been wrong, so I sought to disband them. It was all so simple.”

It was a story Izumi had heard often enough. “Until you saw the world had changed. The colonists had created a home in Yu Dao, and were willing to fight and die to keep that. You sided with the people.”

He nodded soberly. “And marched an army to their doorstep to defend the borders my family had stolen. It didn’t have to come to that; I could have suggested that those who wished to stay would need to become Earth Kingdom citizens. We could have given everyone a choice.”

“But the people of Yu Dao hadn’t identified as Earth Kingdom in a century.”

“Yes,” he said, a catch in his voice. “So the Earth King, the Avatar, and I formed the United Republic. We never actually asked if the people wanted an independent nation. The books make it sound as if it were a great compromise between Kuei and myself. But it was the citizens of the colonies who had to live it.”

Izumi could see the muscles behind his scar twitching. “It _is_ what they wanted.”

“So it seemed. I did what I felt I had to do, even if it meant leading an army. It may not have been entirely right, but I at least knew I was not wrong. To this day, it’s what I have to trust in.” Zuko turned to face her again, smiling slightly. “I believe the papers may have a point. But I know you did only what needed to be done to protect the people of the Republic, and to see their needs become a reality.”

“You believe President Raiko fulfills their needs?”

“If he doesn’t, he won’t be reelected. You were right, Izumi, we can’t stay involved forever. If we do that, we’re no better than my father ever was. The Republic can now self-govern; it’s what always needed to happen.”

“So long as we can trust in the people,” she said.

“Do you?” Zuko asked.

It was Izumi’s turn to look away. The top of the crater seemed to be moving, warped by the hazy clouds. In her mind’s eye, she could see beyond Caldera to the Royal Plaza, where the crowds would have broken up, to Fire Fountain City, where the last few ships of her fleet would just be pulling into its harbor, and even across the sea to Republic City, where its reporters would be following around the newly appointed officials.

At last, she turned back towards her father. “All we can do is wait and see.”

**Author's Note:**

> 8/1/2017
> 
> Now that the Spin the Rails is “done”, or at least, the outstanding gaps Griffin and I always wanted plugged are plugged, I thought I could give my remarks about this one—the first in the series.
> 
> I was desperate to get back into Asami’s headspace after “Seeking Sato”, but even with that, it was the politics that drove me to write this story. I began reading H.L. Mencken, the infamous “sage of Baltimore” (and a racist, sexist, elitist at that), and I was flabbergasted how *relevant* his quotes still were to America in 2015, when I began writing this. His descriptions of Harding stood out, which I more or less immediately began equating to Raiko, especially since post-Equalist would be a “return to Normalcy” kind of era (though with a brand new government). Add to that the Equalist trials that could borrow a page from Nuremberg (yes, mixing my eras), and the idea of the emergence of the Republic City Tammany Hall…
> 
> It just all began clicking and exciting me, especially since we were getting heavily into primary season here. I HAD to explore this time period, because it was baldly ridiculous that ~democracy~ was established in 6 months. But…which PoVs to see this through?
> 
> Asami was a no-brainer, not just because I never leave her headspace, but because this is the objectively her rock bottom. My chest hurts thinking about her here: her father just tried to kill her. When we catch up with her in Book 2 she’s tanking Future Industries into the ground. Her boyfriend dumped her for Korra (which matters the least of anything, but she was just treated like some gum stuck to her shoe). Who the hell does she have? What does she even want? We know she regards FI as her family, but what leads her to that? 
> 
> It’s always about her father with her, of course. So I knew I needed her to witness his sentencing, and get to a point where she’s committed to running FI, but I also knew I wanted to push her to a breaking point too. She tries her best and it’s just…who could possibly manage in her position?
> 
> Tenzin was a very logical window, given how he surely would have been instrumental in setting up the new government (he’s one of the only Council members left). I had also just finished with his brother’s headspace in “Potato Sack,” leaving me thinking about the powder keg of guilt and pressure that [define the Kataangs](https://www.thefandomentals.com/kataang-didnt-work-avatar/). He’s got that Aang worship and would be so cognizant of trying to rebuild the government—the one his father had originally designed that failed the people—so how would his idealization change? Well…not much given Tenzin’s headspace in Book 2. But I wanted him to end in a place of “okay that was messy and terrible, but at least I can double down and focus on my commitment to Korra as her spiritual guide.” Dramatic irony is a bitch.
> 
> Raiko then was to serve as a counterweight to their PoVs. His arc was meant to juxtapose Asami and Tenzin, two good people who can’t seem to keep their heads above water. I wanted Raiko to be just odious, and yet ends up rewarded. Fits into the themes of “judgement” and “success” (hence the choice in title). I leaned into his sexism because he kind of seemed like this hilarious caricature of “I’m a STRONG president,” running to Lin’s office to tell her to do her job, or banishing Korra. He’s also super quick to anger and has that doormat of a wife (sorry Buttercup), so it’s there. It’s like, his fear of seeming ineffectual has this gendered spin on it thanks to, well…Mommy issues.
> 
> Looking back now, I’ll defend it, especially because it’s on such an interpersonal level for him and there's no macro-implications for society or anything. Just…how he sizes up his opponents. But it was admittedly born from my staunch love for [Cersei’s chapters in AFFC](%E2%80%9D). There were two other options I considered: using Kushala as a PoV, or making Buttercup this political mastermind who was the true reason he got elected, and secretly resented him (and he had no idea of her capacity). But the latter really wasn’t in evidence with how she acted, and while Kushala would have been worthwhile, I liked the idea of a contrasting PoV to Asami and Tenzin, not another complement.
> 
> Then the Izumi bookends. These were wildly self-serving, particularly the epilogue (I like Dorne, okay?). But I truly liked the macro-view idea, especially with one of the original founders of the city. This was to hammer the theme of judgement too, and possibly futility. The ending was supposed to be evocative of _Doubt_ , and I'm not sure why that stuck in my craw. Maybe I felt there was a good deal of ambiguity about the effectiveness of this path forward for the city?
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this as much as I loved writing it, and as with everything, please leave any thoughts/suggestions/questions.


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